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V 



LEONI DI MONOT'A: 



OTHER POEMS, 



JAMES BARRON HOPE 




PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1857. 






.v^ 



tk 



Ei.t.'ied according to Act of Loagiess, iu tlio year 1857, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 

TO 



CONTENTS, 



Leoni Di Monota : A Legend of Vebona. 

PAO£ 

I. The Mirror 3 

II. The Dungeon 23 

III. The Square 33 

IV. The Trial 44 

V. The Apparition GO 

VI. The Doom 69 

The Charge at Balaklava 79 

The Dreamer's Remonstrance 87 

A Brief History .• 90 

To Zenova 94 

A Common Experience 97 

A Short Sermon 104 

A Little Picture 107 

My Visit 109 

Reply to a Young Lady 113 

The Monitory Clock 114 

The Joys of Childhood 116 

Mea Culpa 117 

To Amolita 119 

Grey Bayard — An Ancient Story 121 

The Rustic Lover's Soliloquy 126 

My Two Gifts 126 

The Portrait of a Certain Lady 128 

V 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

The Health 131 

Louis' Thoughts aftee his Bridal 133 

**Go Thou and Sin no Moke!" 135 

The Eyes op an Unknown Beauty 137 

Lines on a Miniature 138 

A Story of the Caraccas Valley 140 

Three Summer Studies < 156 

The Minstrel-Lover's Lay 162 

To ***** * * 165 

A Winter Night at Sea 168 

A September Morning 170 

The Night we Parted.... 172 

A Night in Spring 174 

The Night Wind 177 

The Resignation op Hope 179 

The Mother to her Son. 181 

An Autumn Reverie 184 

The Mental Sexton 186 

To Lou 189 

Lines Written on a Hyacinth 192 

Written on Leaving the U. S , 194 

A Memory 197 

'TwAS Wrong 200 

Fire-Side Fancies ! 203 

The Lover to the Maiden 207 

Extract from my Log-Book 210 

Reality 215 

A Sick-Man's Fancies 216 

To Mary 220 

The Irrevocable Past , 223 



THE MIRROR 

Each heart tlie Carnival delights 
With gala shows and splendid sights, 
And sumptuous festival invites 
Yerona's damsels and her knights; 
For Prince Monota bids them all 
This night to revel in his hall. 
And dames and maidens now require 
Their richest gear and best attire — 
Their coronets begirt with plumes — 
And ev'ry knight and ev'ry squire, 
Demands attention from his grooms. 



LEONI DI MONOTA 

And Beatrice Yaldarno sits 

Beneath the hands of Linda, now, 

While she her fav'rite maiden fits 

The golden circle on her brow. 

And Beatrice looks well to-night, 

Her silken hair's rich perfum'd curls 

All deck'd with gemf< and crown'd with pearls, 

But Linda is — a dream of light — 

The fairest of her household girls. 

And slowly Linda twin'd each tress, 

Pausing full oft, as if to gaze 

In homage on the loveliness, 

Which had been sung in many lays 

Beneath pale Dian's silver rays. 

Careful and slow the maiden's hands 

Braided each tress of ebon hair ; 

If she should tread no sarabands. 

At least her Lady would be there. 

For Prince Monota was her sire — 

His name to all Verona known : 

And he, 'twas thought, might well aspire 

Some day to take the Ducal throne. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 

The Lady's Lord waits till the task 
Is done, to lead his wife so fair 
Unto her noble father's masque, 
And leans upon her gilded chair. 
As thus above her form he leant, 
His locks with Linda's tresses blent; 
And Linda shrank not from his side, 
Nor closer drew her robe's loose fold, 
Nor to repress his glances tried, 
Which were too lover-like and bold. 
In sooth ! 'twas wrong that such as he 
With one so fair should make so free ! 
In sooth ! 'twas wrong, and scarcely wise, 
To gaze with such impassion'd eyes ! 

Obliquely, stood a mirror broad, 
Reflecting Lady, Maid, and Lord, 
Like some still lake's unruffl'd wave, 
Its surface faithful picture gave. 
It show'd the Lady in her pride — 
Her perfum'd tresses floating wide, 
Darker than any midnight tide ; 
Her crimson lips, her snowy brow. 
Her cheeks flush'd like a sunset sky; — 



LEONI DI MONOTA 

And never did unspoken vow 
Gleam from a more resplendent eye ! 
And Linda, with her long, fair curls — 
Her girlish form, and eyes of grey, 
Was fair as lily that unfurls 
When midnight dreams of coming day. 
A blooming girl — a woman too — 
A blossom blown, yet damp with dew, 
Still damp with April morning's dew. 
And e'en the Cyprian's statue-bride. 
When life woke in each marble limb — 
In all her dreamy beauty's pride 
By Linda had looked cold and dim ; 
Whose youthful loveliness was rife 
With all the vivid charms of life, 
Contrasting marvellously well, 
With the dark beauty 'neath her hand — 
She, form'd to weave love's magic spell — 
Valdarno's wife, grave, proud and grand. 
And love to her was but as sand 
Beaching the sea of her command, 
Where footprints frequently had been. 
But only for a moment, seen ; — 
And these footprints upon that beach, 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 

Were made by shipwreck'd men whose art 
Could ne'er the sunny valleys reach 

Hid deep within her heart — 
Where flowers fair, or pois'nous smil'd, 
All tangled in confusion wild. 
Love, too, to Linda, was as sand, 
But in life's hour-glass held each grain, 
That glass once empty in her hand, 
Could never be refill'd again. 
And both were beautiful : but oh ! 
Their beauty differed far and wide, 
As rosy sunlight on the snow, 
From summer's blushing vintage pride. 



And Lord Valdarno, leaning there, 
Upon his lovely Lady's chair, 
Had all the lines of lordly race 
Blent in his proud patrician face ; 
Which varied with a flush uncertain 
As, that which in the window-place 
At night falls thro' some crimson curtain, 
With haughty lip whose dark beard made 
Still deeper red the other glow — 



LEONI DI MONOTA 

As holly-lcaf with darksome shade, 
Relieves the berry hid below. 
Trick'd out in velvet, slash'd and lac'd, 
He stood beside his Lady's chair; 
One jewell'd hand upon it plac'd — 
The other long and slim and fair, 
Was wrongfully dispos'd elsewhere. 
And well might Beatrice feel proud 
Of him, for in the noblest crowd 
His form would win admiring glance ; 
And wielding sword, or couching lance, 
He still was first, as in the dance. 
And he, who on her carv'd chair leant. 
Was lov'd as well as she could love, 
A passion in which pride was blent — 
More of the falcon than the dove ! 

The Mirror, like a tranquil wave, 
From its bright surface picture gave — 
A picture life-like in its truth — 
Of these three, lovely in their youth ! 
The Lady gave a sidelong glance — 
She thought upon the fete, perchance — 
Upon the masque — upon the dance, 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 

If these her thoughts, why should she start, 

And press her hand upon her heart? 

She started, Linda started, too, 

Valdarno hastily withdrew 

The circling arm which had been plac'd 

Too boldly round the maiden's waist. 

And thus he spoke: "What, frighten'd, sweet, 

' ' I hear your very heart's quick beat, 

* ' Like sound of fairy-dancer's feet !" — 

* ' 'Twas nothing : save that Linda's hand 

**IIad press'd the coronet too much, — 

* * And surely she should understand 

"It was by far too rude a touch." 

And this was all the Lady said; 

The pressure on her faultless head, 

Explain'd the beating of her heart, 

And gave excuse for that wild start. 

Yet, if 'twas as the lady said. 

Why should she change from pale to red? 

Why should her eyes emit fierce flashes, 

Beneath their long, dark, silken lashes? 

The blood flow'd back thro' Linda's veins, 

Thro' ev'ry art'ry in her form, 
2 



LEONI DI MONOTA 

Like torrents wlien the heavy raius 
Have swell'd them from some suiamer storm. 
Her face, a moment all so white, 
Resum'd its hue, her eye its light : 
And the deep breath her bosom gave, 
Made e'en her Lady's tresses wave. 
Upon Valdarno then she turned 
The eyes that late were all affright, 
Which now in tumultuous delight 
With too much tender lustre burn'd. 
One white hand press'd the circlet's clasp 
The other sought again his grasp ; 
And then, with motion strange, T wist! 
The maiden turn'd — Valdarno kiss'd — 
And Beatrice, with side-long glance, 
That seem'd the look of dream, or trance, 
Gaz'd in the tell-tale Mirror's plate, 
With eyes that spoke terrific hate. 
How strange the hidden ways of Fate ! 
And 'tis the curse of sin, that chance — 
A thoughtless word — a careless glance — 
May bring to light the crime that we 
Thought buried deep in secresy. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. H 

The tiring-woman's task complete, 

The Liidy started to her feet; 

Strange that she could obliterate 

That look of more than human hate ! 

But now in gems and silken sheen 

She smiling stood, a very queen. 

The regal brow, the flashing eye — 

The lip, the cheek of crimson dye — 

The sable tresses, show'ring down 
Beneath her pearl-enamelled crown — 
Her form of glory and of pride, 
Which sculptor hands had oft defied 
When but to mimic it they tried, — 
Seem'd that of one half deified. 
Then to her noble Lord she spoke. 
In accents soft as breath of June ; 
Or, silv'ry string of lute when woke 
To thrill some soft liquescent tune, 
When dim and pale, the setting moon 
Is mirror'd in the still lagoon. 
These were hor words: "Yaldarno, wait, 
** Anon, my love, I'll seek you out — 
**An hour hence, 'twill scarce be late, 
**Then for the revel and the rout!'* 



12 LEONI DI MONOTA. 

"And Linda," here the Lady smil'd, 

* * Perhaps my hot words gave you pain ■ 
** About the coronet, my child; 

* * Such you shall never hear again !" 
She gather'd up her silken gown, 
Valdarno with his stately grace, 
Held back the door, nor saw a frown 
Upon his Lady's radiant face. 



Beneath the stillest river's flow, 

May hideous snakes swim to and fro. 

And pois'nous water-blossoms grow. 

In India's jungles, too, I ween — 

Albeit quiet and serene 

They wave perpetually green, — 

May crouching tigers yet be seen ; 

And fruits and buds of richest glow 

Have, as in days long passed, you know, 

Hidden the deadly asp below. 

So, in the mind, and in the heart. 

May fearful passion's lurk the while : 

But hidden by the polish'd art. 

That gives the loving glance and smile. 



A LEGEND OF YERONA. 13 

When on the red lips' rich perfume, 
Hangs portent of a sudden doom ; 
When subtile words mean double things — 
Ingenious threats which none can see — 
Defiance which the wrung heart flings, 
When curses struggle to be free. 

When Beatrice had gone, what pass'd, 
*Tis scarcely meet I should tell o'er ; 
But they methinks had stood aghast, 
Had they behind yon drap'ried door, 
But known of her, who silent took 
With eager ears, and savage eyes, 
A burning mem'ry of each look — 
His vows, her passionate replies. 
Close to his side the maiden press'd, 
Pillow'd her head upon his breast ; 
Nor reck'd she that each throb within, 
Was one of guiltiness and sin. 

And Beatrice saw his caresses — 

Heard each impassion'd word and vow — 

Saw him now kiss her floating tresses — 

Her off"erd lips, and upturn'd brow. 

2'^ . .. 



14 LKONI m MONOTA 

She mark'd her eyes of tender light, 

That softly burn'd like lamp at night, 

When thro' its shade it glows and starts, 

And dying never, quite departs. 

She heard him say, within an hour. 

That he would leave the masque and dance 

To seek his Linda in their bow'r, 

Where scarce the quiet stars could glance ; 

He car'd for nought on earth but her — 

The heart she heard — which she had won. 

Was that of Persian worshipper, 

And fervid as the Persian's sun ! 

And Linda listen'd to these vows, 

As tho' she were a new-made spouse. 

Her fingers 'mid his long locks play'd, 

Press'd closer to him all the while. 

Then her arms white, stole 'round the knight. 

With such a blush, and such a wile, 

And such a woman's winning smile. 

That had he been an anchorite 

In place of peer for feast bedight, 

He still had kiss'd her all the same, 

And whisper'd tenderly her name. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 15 

A moment more the Lady gaz'd, 
And tho' methinks she was amaz'd, 
Yet cautiously her gown she rais'd, 
Lest the faint rustle of her dress, 
Should break the chamber's silentness : 
Then the proud Lady tipp'd away, 
A moment more, they heard her coming. 
And strange ! it was a roundelay, 
That she so merrily was humming. 
Thus warn'd, the lovers drew apart— 
And Linda took a velvet spencer 
That folded up, with ready art 
She fill'd anew the golden censer. 
The Lord snatch'd up a 'lumin'd book ; 
And holding it revers'd the while, 
Turn'd on the maid a tender look, 
Which she repaid him with a smile — 
Kiss'd her small fingers white as snow 
And sportive strove the kiss to throw. 

Then with a slide, a glide, and bound, 
The Lady stood within the room ; 
But on her face there was not found 
A solitary shade of gloom — 



16 LEONI DI MONOTA 

Fair, smiling, and serene was she — 
Save the slight flush upon her brow, 
Tranquil as any moonlit sea 
Unbroken by an oar or prow. 
Still holding up her 'broider'd dress, 
She stood, one little foot advanc'd ; 
A foot which could as lightly press, 
As those on which Calypso danc'd ! 
Aye ! she was full of loveliness 
As any vision that e'er glanc'd 
On opiate-dreamer when entranc'd — 
When on his golden slumber gleams 
A thousand soft, celestial dreams ! 
The hand that held her rich robe blaz'd 
With gems that glitter' d in their sheen ; 
And with her splendid brow uprais'd, 
She stood and looked in truth a Queen. 
She gave her lord a tender look — 
Said : ' ' Ladies never were in time ; 
' ' And wonder'd if his painted book 
"Was not some dreamy lover's rhyme? 
**'Twas time, too, to be gone, in sooth! 
* ' Her own Leoni would be there ; 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 1' 



*• And would upbraid her, silly youth! 
''The moment that she should appear.'* 

Leoni was Monota's son; 
Her brother: twins they were, and few 
Were they who had not deem'd them one — 
So very like they were to view. 
He had been exil'd; but his fame. 
And potent friends, had from his name 
Wip'd out what he esteem'd a shame. 
And he to-night, from other lands 
Was coming, so his courier said 
With honors crown'd, reap'd by his hands, 
On fields where lay the new-mown dead. 
And thus it was Monota gave 
The splendid revel, which that night 
Conven'd the lovely and the brave. 
To welcome home the gallant knight. 
And Beatrice most wildly well 
Did love that second self of hers: 
And late, had long'd to hear him tell 
How he had won his golden spurs. 
But scarce a thought of him dwelt now, 
Beneath her gem-encircled brow; 



18 



LEONI m MONOTA 



Although she was indeed most proud 
Of his rare beauty and his strength. 
^ And when secluded from the crowd, 
Would praise his soft locks' wondrous length 
Call him her glass — say that his face 
Had all his sister's winning grace ; — 
A thousand sportive things like these, 
Would say when seated on his knees. 
In spring-time such, her native pride — 
A heavy cloak — was laid aside. 
O'er others she might sternly reign, 
With him she was a child again — 
She 'd tell old tales, and hum the airs. 
Which they had sung when mountaineers — 
When children they in idle play 
Had — at a castle far away, 
And lone, and desolate, and grey — 
Disported all the livelong day. 
But now ; such woman's thoughts as these 
Within her bosom stern would freeze ; 
Or, stand at best like winter trees, 
With not a note among the boughs 
Where birds had lately warbled vows — 



A LEGEND OP VERONA. 19 

With not a leaf on any limb — 
But melancholy, stern, and grim. 
Be sure the Lady's heart was hard 
When Leoni was from it barr'd ! 

Now with her crimson cloak and hood, 

Fair Linda by the Lady stood : 

And still the fair dame talked the while 

With radiant look and sunny smile — 

All fair above — all fierce below — 

The flame beneath cold Hccla's snow ! 

Thus spoke she to her noble spouse: 

* ' I claim this night as all my own, . 

' ' But fear not that I'll list to vows 

"Breath'd even in the softest tone." 

Valdarno, tho' well-pleas'd, in sooth, 

Made her a gay and gallant speech — 

Such as the '* world" in early youth, 

Will to its polish'd vot'ries teach. 

He said : ' ' When absent from the side 

*'0f her, his life, his light, his pride — 

*' That his fond heart ebb'd faint and low — 

• ' The moments were so sad and slow — 

••His spirits but an unstrung bow." 



20 LEONI DI MONOTA 

As speaking thus, he glanc'd aside, 
The Lady knew the Noble lied : 
But 'twould have been scant courtesy 
To tax him with his perfidy ! 
And so she listen'd all the while, 
With tranquil gaze and dazzling smile: 
Then clasp'd her hands upon her breast 

And look'd up in his face, 
Then court'sied low, as if in jest 

To show her matchless grace. 
To Linda then the Lady spoke, 
Patting her cheek with playful stroke. 
Said that she need no vigil keep, 
And prophecied a dreamless sleep. 
The while she spoke with perfum'd breath, 
She could have dealt her maiden death 
Oh ! lips and eyes can lie and cheat ! 
And words that ring so low and sweet. 
Oft syllable some dark deceit. 
And kisses, too; — the olive's shade 
Of old saw more than man betray'd. 

The flambeaux gleam with ruddy glow 
As forth the Lord and Lady go. 



A LEGEND OP VERONA. 21 

And servitors went on before, 
Eacli with his flaring torch, 

"Which flung uncertain glimmers o'er 
Full many a sculptur'd porch. 

And all along the changing light 
Fell on historic walls, 

Round which the gloom of moonless night, 
Was wrappM like sable palls. 
They gain Monota's palace proud. 
The Lady leaves his side ; 
Valdarno mingles with the crowd, 

Nor long will he abide. 
To him the Masque is poor and tame 

He cares not for the dance : — 
He misses not his stately dame, 

Nor her bewitching glance. 
He cares not for the music's swell — 
Upon his heart 's a deeper spell 
Than melody has ever flung. 
Since first the stars together sung. 
He thinks of one who waits for him. 
Where stars are peeping, pale and dim; — 
Of one, who tho' alas! not wed. 
Still listens for his well-known tread 



22 LKONI DI MONOTA 

While thus Yaldarno loung'd about 
Amid the gay and gallant rout. 
His Lady from the hall sped out — 
She sought an ancient crone, her nurse, 
Who heard her tale with mutter'd curse, 
And they, their heads together bent, 
Up a broad marble stairway went. 
What further pass'd, I cannot say, 
Save that they sought a chamber then ; 
"What there transpir'd?" if still you ask, 
I know not. Presently, two men 
Came forth with mantle and with mask ; 
Swift down the sumptuous stair they glide — 
They gain the court — the archway wide — 
And soon are lost adown the street, 
That scarcely echoes to their feet. 



II. 



THE DUNOEON. 

Down the long, vaulted corridor, 

With guards behind and guards before,— 

The Ducal guards— perhaps a score — 

Cometh a knight most bravely dress'd, 

With jewell'd orders on the breast 

Of his dark crimson gala- vest; 

While clouds of costly laces float 

Around his shoulders and his throat. 

IMost splendidly he is array d, 

Save, that his baldric bears no blade. 

And this same young and gallant knight 

So sumptuously is bedight, 

That he, himself most surely dress'd 

With all these orders on his breast, 

For some high festival, and not 

To spend the night in such a spot. 
23 



LEONl DI MONOTA 

The jailor found a rusted key, 

And then by dint cf hand and knee, 

Forc'd back the pondrous door that swung 

Upon its hinges with a sound 

That echoed dismally around. 

He lighted next, an iron lamp 

Which feebly glimmer'd in the gloora^ 

For that deep vault was cold and damp 

As sleeping Romeo's silent tomb. 

Seeming in thickest haze to swim 

The taper's light was cold and dim, 

And fell on walls so rude, and grim, 

That they had sicken'd all, but him — 

The knight so pale — and proud — and slim — • 

Of splendid brow and faultless limb, 

Who now, perchance, through haughty whim 

Bade his dark guide "the taper trim." 

His voice was rich ; and left his mouth 

As 'twere with perfume from the South ; 

And yet, its tone of proud command, 

'Twas said, but few could e'er withstand. 

And voices : (I have found it so) 

Have even in theii- tutor'd flow 



A LEGEND OP VERONA. 26 

Expression, which the thoughtful trace 
As others read upon the face. 
And his, tho' he had spoken love, 
Show'd him — if I may use the phrase — 
An iron hand in silken glove — 
A hawk with plumage of the dove. — 
And in his dark eyes falcon blaze 
Was all that dreamy maidens praise. 



Speaking, within the room he strode 

Allotted as his stern abode. 

A table old, and stain'd and dark, 

Bearing full many a name and mark, 

Stood in the floor ; a record it ! 

For it was thickly overwrit 

With names — and sometimes sombre wit — 

The names were names of men long sped, 

And this the only thing which told 

How gallants brave, alas! long dead, 

Had suffered in this damp and cold. 

Dark, dreary prison, which to-night 

Yawned welcome to the Lord who came 

Within it to record his name. 



26 LFOSl t)l MONOTA 

If SO he chose in weary mood 
To cheat an hour of solitude. 

The gaunt rats at the noble's tread 

Sought refuge in the unused bed, 

From which one gaz'd with fi'ry eyes 

In mingled terror and surprise ; 

For half a score of years had pass'd 

Since that grim portal open'd last. 

The knight look'd round; still calm, and cold, 

Then drawing forth a purse of gold, 

Quoth he: "Sir knave, this place for me?" 

* ' It illy suits with my degree — " 

"A fitter room — and this for thee.'' 

He shook it thrice: the jailor turn'd — ■ 

Be sure the ducats soon were earn'd. 

The chamber which the knight next gain'd 

"Was ample; and tho' rent and stain'd 

Its furniture was better — he 

Had for his couch e'en draperie ! 

Now said the knight: "Wouldst win a prize? 

* ' Ducats by thousands realize ? 



A LEGEND OP VEKOXA. 21 

' ' I ask of thee a simple thing — 

* ' Earnest of payment take this ring — 

"'Twould pay the ransom of a king, 

' ' And now may lend to me a wing : 

* ' Thy head would answer ? tush ! man think ! 

* * Well : then if from the deed you shrink 

'* 'Twill purchase parchment, pens and ink." 

He held forth now the priceless ring : 

Priceless indeed ! a rugged thing ! 

So that the jailor gave a groan 

To see its simply clouded stone, 

Engrav'd with some device and line, 
Cut in it deep and strong. 

To him it seem'd a cup of wine, 
With couplet from a song. 

The knight's keen eyes could not but mark 

The change upon his features dark, 

And then he look'd upon the ring ; 

'Twas strange ! so very small a thing 

Should to his forehead upward bring 

The ruddy blood. He mutter'd low 

Laugh'd a strange laugh, and then said ''no!" 

While with a hand assur'd and slow 



28 LEONT DI MOXOTV ' 

Be from his long, white finger drow 
A gem, bright as a drop of dew 
Catching the golden moon's full light 
On some serene mid-summer night. 
** And now begone, but sirrah, think! 
** To-morrow bring me pens and ink!" 



The heavy doors together jar. 

And then are locked with bolt and bar. 

The sound died out. Deep silence fell 

Upon that isolated cell. 

The knight sank in his oaken chair — 

Flung back the masses of his hair 

And smote upon his forehead fair. 

His eyes might well the fiends invoke 

As his deep voice the silence broke : 

Such bitter words as these he spoke : 

' ' Fool ! fool ! ay fool ! and thrice ill starr'd I 

' ' Life's brilliant prophecies are marr'd ! 

"My doom no skill can now retard. 

' ' And double curses on the chance 

"That brought me hitherwavd from France, 

"Unback'd by sword, or axe, or lance. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. ^9 

*'Wheii I had spears thick as the pines 

*'That cluster on the Appenines. 

"How strange a thing man's life may be I 

"That blow well struck, has stricken me. 

* ' My race is run ! My sun is set 1 

"Dark Stento owes me an old debt; 

"He hates my house; and my own name 

"Has caused him many a pang of shame — 

"Flung gloom upon his closing age" — 

Here the knight laugh'd in scorn and rage. 

His mirth had the metallic sound 

Of iron hoof on frozen ground. 

And well did fit his dark eyes' glitter 

That laugh, so savage and so bitter! 

The prison clock had slowly boom'd 

Twelve, ere the knight again resum'd.; 
"But little does he know me, and 
"Although no sword is in my hand, 
' ' He yet shall find that at a foe 
"A brain like mine can strike a blow." 
And here he paused : that busy brain 
Roved backward o'er the past again. 
And now he frown'd, and now he smil'd, 
As many memories defil'd 



30 LEONI DI MONOTA 

Before him in his musing mood 

In that deep, prison-solitude. 

And well his subtile knowledge, then 

Of all the varied thoughts of men 

Did serve his purpose, for his skill 

Was working out old Stento's ill. 

And could his many thoughts be trac'd, 

As now he sat, and now he pac'd, 

They'd make a volume strange, I ween, 

As any which you e'er have seen ! 



The clock had often slowly toll'd 
Out to the city how time fled ; 
And morning broke in red and gold 
Before he sought his rugged bed 
Where sleeping calmly as a child 
Full often in his dreams he smil'd. 
Anon the jailor shambled down 
The dimly lighted corridor, 
And with a deep and thoughtful frown 
Paus'd at the noble's door. 
He was a stout and rugged knave — 
Strong as an Andalusian bull — 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 31 

His forehead fitting well a slave — 

His cunning eyes of murder full. 

He wore a jerkin darkly stain'd 

Bound by a girdle that sustain'd 

A ponderous bunch of rusted keys — - 

Each one, how full of histories! 

The jailor paus'd in reverie, 

His bearded chin upon his breast — 

His thick lips smil'd in savage glee 

As at some ghastly jest; 

And as in that dim corridor 

He halted at the noble's door, 

He seem'd a very demon — such 

As modern Dunstan scarce would touch. 

The jailor found the knight asleep — 

His slumber was profound and deep, 

For oft to rouSe the Lord he tried 

Before he turn'd upon his side ; 

How sharply then the man he eyed! 

Who now with solemn nod and wink 

Produc'd the parchment and the ink. 

And now the knight with clerkly hand 

Fill'd up the sheet, which well he scanned, 

Then gave it to the jailor, and 



32 LEONI DI MONOTA 

Bade him with secrecy and care 
That night within the palace square 
Place it beneath a statue's base, — 
Which he describ'd: then leave the place, 
Nor pause to see who took it thence — 
His life would answer such ojBfence. 
The rugged knave with many a vow 
Of secrecy withdrew, and now 
The knight leant back and strangely laugh'd ; 
Quoth he, "I've shot a cloth-yard shaft. 
"Suspicion wears no corslet — so 
"Old Stento long shall feel this blow 
"E'en when the hand which drew the bow 
"Is mouldering 'neath the chancel low. 
"And guarding 'gainst his menac'd doom 
"Shall swifter hurry to the tomb." 



Ill 



THE SQUARE. 

'Tis scarcely dawn, yet up each street 

The citizens all press amain, 
Making with the incessant beat 
And patter of their heavy feet 

A sound like driving rain. 

Why rise the people with the sun? 

The Carnival has long been done. — 

Why throng these artisans and churls, 

These men and matrons, youths and girls? 

Why to the ducal palace, proud, 

Should press to-day this mighty crowd? 

It is to see a gallant show, 

Verona's duke his court will hold; 

And can it be, that thus they go, 
A 33 



34 LEONI DI MONOTA 

So early, only to behold 
An old man 'dight in crown of gold — 
And courtiers with their nodding plumes, 
And knights and solaiers, squires and grooms? 

They go to stand without the while 
Their ducal sovereign takes his throne; 
For all within, each marble aisle, 
The noble claimeth as his own. 
And well the people love display 
Of martial pomp, or civic pow'r, 
And on such grand, eventful day, 
They mutter if the sky but low'r. 
And swear outright at mist or show'r. 
Onward they struggle to the square, 
Happy indeed if foremost there — 
There, on embattled walls they hung 
And to the sculptur'd columns clung. 
And swore, and push'd, and strove amain, 
Each one a better place to gain. 
"What then had brought this noisy rout— 
Simply to gaze, and gazing shout? 
No ! 'twas a banquet rare and sweet 
To which they pressed with eager feet. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. * 35 

They long'd to gaze upon the face, 
Of one, renown'd for deeds afar — 
Who in his beauty, and his grace. 
Might shame the very "morning star." 
Young in his years; old in renown 
Of deeds in field;, or 'leaguer'd town — 
But more than deeds in any clime. 
He bore the potent spell of crime ; 
For which he was to be arraign'd — 
To feast each speculative eye. 
To see a noble felon chain'd, 
Anon, perchance to see him die — 
Such spectacle as this they sought — 
For this they struggled and they fought — 
All else to them, that day was nought: 
And as the people gather'd fast 
Full many a plumed noble pass'd. 

Alas! that e'er it should be so — 
That princely born — that high and low 
Are ever eager for such show. 
And darkest guilt and deepest crime 
Will win attention, when, alas! 
Heroic deeds, grand and sublime 



36 • LEONI DI MONOTA 

Writ in the chronicle of time, 
As worthy manhood's noblest prime 
Unseen, unnotic'd pass. 

There is a darksome spell in guiit, 
We listen, tho' we may grow pale, 
And scan the blade, and mark the hilt 
Where still the blood upon it spilt 

Tells murder's ghastly tale. 
Now, on this very day, 'twas said 
A peer would answer with his head, 
For a mysterious deed, so dark. 
That when men whisper'd of his crime 
They said : it was by far more stark 
Than any done within their time. 
Its very mystery but lent 
New charms unto the frightful tale, 
For vainly was conjecture spent 
And keenest wit of no avail. 
"By Bacchus!"-^ thus a goldsmith swore. 
His age was near upon three score, — 
* ' ffe ne'er had known the like before." 
And whether guilty of the deed, 
Or innocent, he knew full well. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 37 

The noble was a noxious Weed — 
A very imp escap'd from hell: 
For, did he not in that same town 
Three years ago ride Marco down? 
And drive his lance thro' Cola quite, 
Because he spatter'd the gay knight? 
With this his mind was well imbued, 
That he would hardly 'scape this crime; 
For, there had been a deadly feud 
Between the Duke and Knight sometime. 
The tumult broke his story's thread, 
Or more the goldsmith sure had said. 
For now the wild, excited rout 
Sent upward a protracted shout; 
Flung up their caps towards the sky 

And shouted, never thinking why. 

Oh, man ! when in thy brutal glee 

Thou fling'st thy bonnet in the air. 

Dost never think, the joy to thee 

Is but anothers dark despair? 

And when the scaffold, stern and grim, 

Attracts thy ever-curious eye, 

Shout not, but waft a pray'r for him 

"Whose doom it is thereon to die. 
4^ 



38 LEONI DI MONOTA 

Think! tho' the evening clouds are roU'd 
In mingled hues of red and gold, 
Until their rich and splendid flow 
Has Aidenn river's radiant glow — 
Think ! they cast shadows just below. 
Tho' bright to us, yet other eyes 
May see all darkness in the skies: 
So, the brave spectacles of earth, 
Alas! too often owe their birth 
To light which falls on show'ry tears 
Wrung by some others bitter fears: 
Tho' bright to us they are array'd, 
Below, perchance, they cast a shade 

And now the air is rent with cries, 
The men-at-arms and guards in sight. 
Attract the many eager eyes 
And fill the people with delight; 
Not that they care now for such show 
As soldiers stepping grave and slow. 
Beneath their waving pennon's flow. 
They scarcely note the plumes that dance- 
The brilliant gleam of casque or lance 
To-day wins no applause — no glance. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 39 

For one alone the people look, 
The criminal, if such he be, 
And now by mass and holy book, 
He is a gallant fit to see ! 

One, seeming scholar by his words, 
And by his dark and sombre dress, 
Said : as the knight came full in sight 
That like the falcon among birds 

The noble was 'mid men. 
And the stout burgher shouts and smiles 
Because, within the serried files 
He sees the proud patrician form 
On which to-day must burst the storm. 
And e'en you giddy, tip-toe boy 
Exulting, shouts for savage joy, 
Nor recks he that the gallant show 
Is bought by blood, and guilt and woe 
And Portia — yonder dark-haired maid, 
Forgets to ply her floral trade ; 
And mark ye, sirs! the dainty girl 
Avails herself of that strong churl, 
Lest she by sudden slip, or fall. 
Should lose her footinsj on the wall — 



40 LEONI DI MONOTA 

Nor cares that his grim hand is plac'd 
With freedom on her slender waist, 
The day before his cheek had paid 
For such acquaintance with the maid. 



On one alone the people look — 
The criminal if such he be, — 
And sooth ! by mass and holy book, 
He is a gallant, fit to see ! 
They shouted, and they star'd, but soon 
Began to change the human tide, 
Like that which underneath the moon 
Obeys her on the ocean wide. 
Had he been poor, and old, and bow'd, 
Hisses had met hiu5 from the crowd ; 
But rich, and beautiful, and proud, 
No curse was breath'd — at least aloud; 
And the fair flow'r girl's lips avow'd 
In accents clear, and sharp and loud, 
That such a proper knight, indeed. 
Should never on the scaffold bleed: 
That is, if pray'r to Mary Mother, 
Could ill his place thrust — any other. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 41 



The noble gaz'd on man and girl — 

On ruffian — artizan — or churl, 

Who drew away and backward shrank, 

As when the spur is red and dank 

With blood drawn from the charger's flank, 

The steed will swerve, and back recoil, 

So swerv'd each swarthy son of toil : 

Before that glance — that ''evil eye"— 

They cross themselves and fain would fly; 

And as he thus the people eyed, 

Perchance he thought what sport 'twould be 

With lance in rest thro' them to ride 

In blood up to his charger's knee — 

To hew them down with gleaming steel — 

To see them stagger back and reel. 

And fall beneath his horses heel; 

For, fierce is he tho' fair he seems 

As hero of romantic dreams : 

And he, arm'd ranks can well divide. 

And such as these could dash aside — 

Could from his pathway, dash and fling 

Like yielding reeds from heron's wing. 

Whate er his thoughts, his haughty glance 

Hush'd deep in silence that vast crowd; 



^'^ LEON I DI MONOTA 

And many a man^ as if in trance 
With mingl'd fear and rev'rence bow'd 
And almost breatli'd a pray'r aloud. 
And strange it was, that each man there 
In after years was heard to swear, 
When that bright glance was cold and dim 
That the proud knight, so fair and slim, 
Had with a meaning dark and grim 
That morning look'd alone on him. 

The noble's face told' not of care ; 
As proud and high and debonair. 
With calm, and cold, collected air. 
He mounted up the marble stair — 
The stair that led to certain doom — 
A felon's death — a felon's tomb. 
And yet, beneath his bonnet's plume 
His forehead show'd no sign of gloom ; 
But had his regal brow been crownM, 
And royal purple's sumptuous fold. 
His stately shoulders clung around 
He scarce had look'd more proudly cold. 
And thus he gain'd the topmost stair, 
Then for a moment slowly turn'd 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 43 

And gaz'd around him with the air 
Of one who had but late returned — 
Who look'd upon familiar view 
That still was what of old he knew. 
Then slowly pass'd within the door, 
But even then no loud uproar 
Rose from the lip of churl, or boor. 
There rose no shout, no curse, no cry, 
The charm of that large liquid eye 
Still held them with its subtile spell — 
Restraining ; why, they could not tell. 



IV, 



THE TRIAL. 

Within the .white plumes wave and flow 
Until the gazer might presume, 
That there had been a fall of snow 
That morning on each dancing plume 
And through the hall the velvet seats 
Are rang'd in many circles round, 
And in the aisles that stretch like streets 
Scarce any place can now be found. 
Up in the galleries, below, 
The waving feathers float and flow ; 
And many a radiant lady there 
Is seated in her carved chair. 
The air within hath caught the scent 
Of perfume from the floating dresses, 
Or, from luxuriant, drifting tresses I 

A thousand odors blent! 

44 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 



45 



While lie on whom all eyes are bent. 

With the same look of proud repose 

Right onward to his place he goes. 

Sombre and sad his velvet suit 

In color like the fig's ripe fruit — 

And well his countenance doth fit 

With the dark, solemn hue of it; 

A woman's face was his in cast, 

And few had dreampt from its soft mould 

That he scarce twenty summers past, 

Could in iniquity be old ; 

And passionless, and calm, and cold 

You well had deem'd him, but his eye 

Gave to assumption such the lie. 

And could that hand, fair as a girl's, 

That quietly put back his curls — 

Could that white hand bedeck'd with rings, 

Be that of one whose prowess won 

Applause from potentates and kings, 

For knightly deeds which he had done? 

And as his glance rov'd o'er the scene, 

Each thought of what he might have been ; 

For in his eyes of liquid light 

There gleam'd that stern, unwavering might — 



46 LEONI DI MONOTA 

That will wliich cannot quail, nor bend 
That liveth proudly to the end. — 
The will, which seen in holy eyes 
Before some dark Agrippa's bar, 
The Mother Church doth canonize, 
And trumpet to the world afar ; 
But he such tribute ne'er can win — 
His glance is but a glance of sin, 
Altho' as tranquilly it gleams 
As star-light on a fountain's streams. 
As he looked round no whisper'd word 
Was spoken, not a white plume stirr'd ; 
For every lord and lady there 
Felt something of that mystic fear — 
That strange, that chill, abnormal dread 
We feel when watching with the dead. 
When underneath the ghastly sheet 
We see the outlines of the clay. 
The crossed arms, the rigid feet, 
That lay not as the living lay. 
For well they knew that certain doom 
Awaited him they gaz*d upon, 
And that a felon's nameless tomb 
Would close on him by set of sun : 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 47 

For, added to the fierce duke's hate 

A rumor had been nois'd abroad, 

That treason 'gainst his native state 

Hung also o'er the gallant lord. 

The duke his enemy, two crimes 

Of legal brand now held the hilt, 
And sure were they, that vesper chimes 
Would see him expiate his guilt. 
The duke his enemy, and why? 
The duke had once a fair young bride — 
Had rarely wander'd from her side — 
Had seen no light save in her eyes — 
Had trembled at her lightest sighs — 
But once, in down-cast eyes and blush 
He read a meaning deep and black — 
He foUow'd in the lady's track — 
He folio w'd close — he followed fast — 
He saw what made him start aghast. 
Next morn the noble lord had fled, 
And Stento's lovely wife was dead. 
With such a judge, his horoscope 
Was gilded by no starry hope. 



48 LEONI DI MONOTA 

Leoni Di Monota say 
Thy prayers, if ever thou hast pray'd. 
For truly 'tis thy latest day — 
To-morrow, and thou shalt be laid 
Within the silent valley's shade. 
Leoni cross thyself and vow, — 
Thine enemy is coming now, 
The ducal crown upon his brow. 
Oh ! cross thyself, and say some pray'r. 
Thy foe is coming — he is here! 
Upon his throne he takes his seat. 
To him the hour is passing sweet; 
And now his eyes glare out and blaze 
Upon thee with exulting gaze — 
Nor does he for a moment try 
To guard the menace of his eye. 
No marvel 'twas that Stento felt 
Exultant on that evil day — 
Resolve which never could relent 
Until he saw his fated prey 
Beside the headsman's dark block lay 
A headless trunk of gory clay : 
No marvel that he look'd elate 
And scowl'd a look of bitter hate. 



A L?:GEND of VERONA. 49 

And Leoni paid back his glance 

With such a steady, haughty stare, 

That the old man first look'd askance, 

Then fairly trembled on his chair. 

A pause. The duke then spoke aloud: 

* ' Leoni Di Monota, thou 

** To-day appear'st before this crowd 

** Of all the nobles of the land, 

**To answer for the hellish deed 

"Done by thy red right hand. 

"And other charge, of treason too — 

"Of plot against thy native state, 

* ' Hath been unfolded to our view, 

' ' To win for thee a deeper hate 

' ' From all who know thy many crimes ; 

"Wrought here at home — in foreign climes — 

"Which give thee infamy and shame, 

"And sully thy patrician name, — 

"Count Beppo, now rehearse thy tale, 

"Which sooth! is one to fill with fright — 

"To make the very stoutest quail, 

"And list'ning, shudder and grow pale." 

The while he spoke, Leoni's eyes 

Rov'd careless o'er the gallant scene, 

5* 



50 LEONI 1)1 MONOTA 

Calm as the stars in summer skies — 
So bright, so tranquil, so serene, 
That thou hadst never deem'd the knight 
Was there arraign'd for such dark guilt,-^ 
That one so fair, and young, and slight, 
Had ever crimson life-blood spilt; — 
Surely the tale cannot be true. 
That he such murder stark could do! 

Count Beppo is of high degree, 

As by his bearing you may see. 

Taller a head than other men. 

In age, perhaps a score and ten. 

Before the ducal throne he stands. 

His plumed bonnet in his hands, — 

The multitude are hush'd to hear. 

While in a tone distinct and clear, 

Unmoved by all their eager eyes, 

He told his story in this wise : 

**Lord duke, it is a frightful task — 

** A fearful tale of me you ask. 

"'Twas on the night of dance and masque, 

"At Prince Monota's sumptuous hall, 

"The last I think of Carnival— 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 51 

* * I there was bidden as a guest 
**But linger'd longer than the rest, 
"So that 'twas late when 1 betook 
**My way, attended by two men — 
"The time, beyond the stroke of ten. 

* * My path lay by Valdarno's wall — 
"The night was moonless, and no ray 
" If I remember 'right did fall 

* • Upon my dark and lonesome way, 

* ' Save that which my red torches' wave 
"Cast on the sad and silent street; 
"Their light alone, some guidance gave 
"Amid the darkness to my feet. 
' ' In vacant mood upon the wall 
"I watch'd my shadow rise and fall, 
"When in the light, a postern low 
"Seem'd open, in the torches glow. 
"I paus'd; when suddenly a man, 
"All bloody, pale, and looking wan, 

* * Stood with a look of hate and fright, 

* * For one brief moment in my sight, 
"Then vanish'd in the gloomy night. 
"Methought I heard another's feet 

" Join'd to his own in quick retreat; 



52 LEONI DI MONOTA 

"I follow'd fast, but stumbling fell, 
"And then I heard my varlets cry, 
' ' Who deem'd it was some wizard spell, 
"Or spectral form escap'd from hell. 
• ' Thinkmg they had some capture made 
"Or stood perchance in need of aid, 
"Their craven summons I obey'd. 
"They deem'd him goblin — such reply 
* ' Explain'd the meaning of their cry ; 
"Back at the door I paus'd to gaze, 
"And there, revealed the torches' blaze 
"Upon the pavement white, a stain 
"Small, round, and like a drop of rain; 
"And on the handle of the door, 
"Were finger-marks impress'd in gore. 
' ' I smote the postern open wide — 
"I held a torch above my head, 
"And on the pavement soon espied, 
"A darkly red, ensanguin'd tide, 
"Dying the pallid marble wide. 
"And then, a floral bow'r beside, 
"The scene from which you felon fled — 
* ' A maiden lying newly dead. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 53 

*'Lord duke, I've look'd upou the slain 
"Where Turkish arrows pour'd like rain — 

* * Where men fell like the ripen'd grain ; — 
"Have thro' the horrid carnage rode, 
"Where crimson blood in rivers flow'd; — 

* * Have seen friends fall in many a clime, 
* ' Like grapes in our own vintage time ; 
"But never felt, in heart, or brain, 
"Such sudden sickness and such pain, 

* ' Pray God ! I never may again ! 

' * As was in that dark moment felt, 

* ' While o'er the murder'd maid I knelt. 

"So dark a deed, so sad a scene, 

"Methinks before has never been. 

"My lord, it was a sight of fear, 

' ' To see her lips still wear a smile, 

' * And all her wealth of unbound hair 

"Make in her blood a golden isle. 

"While her soft eyes seem'd full of light — 

' ' Her scarlet lips half smil'd apart, 

* ' That look surviv'd the bloody knife 

* ' Which had been driven to her heart. 

"And strange, my lord, it seem'd to me, 

"Upon those lips to tempt a bee. 



54 



LEONI m MONOTA 



♦'Still linger'd smile of childish glee; 

* * As if, when seal'd forever here 
"Upon them hung the name most dear; 
** Lovely in death, her sudden doom, 

* • Had left behind her girlish bloom ; 

** As rose, tho' pluck'd will long retain 
*'Its perfum'd breath and crimson stain: 
"Still fair: for the dark Terror-King 
"Had left no shadow of his wing; 

* • Nor had his stern hand swept away 
"The beauty from her soulless clay. 
"While thus I look'd in dumb amaze, 
"I heard a hasty footfall near; 

* ' When raising my bewilder'd gaze, 
' * I saw a man with streaming hair, 
"And bitter look of wild despair. 
"Aghast, he star'd upon the maid 
"While o'er his face went deadly shade; 
* ' A moment, vainly he essay'd 
"To loose his doublet's golden clasp; 
"And e'er my hand could give him aid, 
"With a low groan, and sobbing gasp, 
"He reel'd and fell down in a fit; — 
"He. fell, like mountaineer when hit 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 55 

**By thunder-bolt of summer storm, 

"When the red lightning gleams and shines 

"In tempest on the Appenines. 

* ' And when my grooms together rais'd 

"His pallid face, thereon I read 

* ' That he whom now I deem'd as dead, 

"Was Lord Yaldarno; whence he came, 

"Or why, in sooth, I cannot tell! 

"All that I know is, that he fell. 

"What follow'd, you, my lord, well know, 

"I, to rehearse my tale of woe, 

* ' With hun-ying feet, then sought you out. 

"I found you at Monota's rout — 

"I told you that the man I'd seen, 

"Was yonder knight in silken sheen, 

"Fleeing, all pale and splash'd with gore, 

* ' Thro' that low postern's bloody door. 

"The rest to you, to all, is known." 

He made low rev'rence to the throne — 

A moment more his form was lost 

Amid the sea of plumes that toss'd. 

The while he spoke Leoni's look 

Was one which Beppo ill could brook; 



56 LEONI DI MONOTA 

For tho' he listen'd all the while, 

It was with that sardonic smile — 

With that cold irony of eye 

With which we listen to some lie — 

But listen, scorning to reply. 

Not so with others in that hall, 

They heard the tale which might appal, 

Nor shame their manhood, for the dread 

Of such a deed of sin and crime ; 

The darkest, as Count Mora said, 

Which ever had disgrac'd their clime — 

That is, he meant, for a long time. 

Much then they marvel'd, whisper'd, gaz'd, 

Said: they were "horrified, amaz'd" 

That he could look so calm and cold — 

So very self-possess'd, and bold. 

While list'ning to the frightful tale, 

Which made them shudder and grow pale. 

The ladies sigh, and vow again 

Their sex are ' ' angels all ; but men 

"Are very devils — quite sublime 

"In their dark aptitude for crime." 

And one, with eyes of cooing dove 

When swinging on an April bough, 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 57 

Now wonders if it was for * * love — 
*'0r, vengeance on some broken vow;" 
And as her pouting red lips smil'd, 
She added that, "since but a child, 

* * Her dreams had been of love as wild." — 
Then, glancing at young Mora, said — 
That ' * sentiment had nearly fled — 

* * That poetry, which dealt in crimes 
*'Was fading from their wretched times." 
She sigh'd, and down her dark eyes cast, 
As Stento's voice rang out again — 
Like sound of trumpet's gleeful blast 
When breathing some triumphal strain. 
His tones were heard e'en in the yard, 
"Stand forth the captain of our guard." 
Then silence fell upon the hall. 

You might have heard a snow-flake fall. 
As forth the captain strode and told 
In accents measur'd, calm, and cold, 
While playing with the hilt of gold 
Beneath his crimson mantle's fold 
Told how on that memorial night, 
Mark'd by its tragedy so grim, 



58 LEONI DI MONOTA 

A messenger all pale with fright, 

And out of breath had summoned him, 

To hurry with a chosen band, 

To Prince Monota's palace nigh ; 

Where he had with his own right hand 

Found bloody garments not yet dry. 

And dagger on whose blade and hilt 

Was crimson evidence of guilt. 

The chamber where these things were found, 

Was Leoni's, so he had heard; 

But to this fact he was not bound, 

He said what others had aver'd. 

The sister of the noble knight, 

In sooth, he thought had died outright; — 

For Lord Yaldarno's wife fell low, 

As falls the timid mountain doe 

Brought down by shaft from hunter's bow; 

Or, like some glorious banner smote 

From battled parapet to moat ; 

And the fair lady's eyes to him 

Seem'd in that fall of her's so dim. 

That much he was amaz'd to learn 

That life to her could e'er return ; 



A LEGEND OF VEROXA. 59 

Then, bidden by the duke, he had 
Arrested him, the prisoner there; 
And this he'd say, however bad, 
He surely show'd uo sign of fear; 
But on the dagger look'd with eyes 
That only spoke intense surprise. 
One thing remain'd, the knight had writ 
A subtile scroll, and given it 
Unto the jailor, who had brought 
It straight to him, for it was fraught 
With deadly treason 'gainst the state, 
This to the duke himself had sent — 
And such was all he could relate. — 
T' wards Stento then the soldier bent — 
Took of the knight a steady view, 
And slowly disappear'd. 



Y. 



THE APPARITION. 

The evening shadows fall apace. 
Leoni, mark yon setting sun, 
That radiance falling on thy face, 
When it fades out thy race is run ! 
Next came the leech ; in terms of art 
He prated of the veins and heart, 
And spoke in melancholy tones. 
Of tissues, art'ries, nerves and bones. 
Why stops he now with sudden start, 
In disquisition on his art? 
He casts a look of fear and fright 
Where standing by the felon-knight, 
A shadow like to him bedight, 
Is standing in the yellow light. 
By mass and book, a wondrous sight ! 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 61 

For as they rose upon the view, 

None there could tell between the two. 

The brow, the lip, the hair, the eye, 

Of self-same hue, of self-same dye, 

Clad even in the self-same suit — 

In color like the fig's ripe fruit. 

The duke, the leech, the nobles gaz'd 

On shape so mystically rais'd ; 

And all now heard a muflBied sound 

Gro creeping, creeping, creeping 'round. 

At that strange noise each shrinks and starts — 

It was the muffled throb of hearts ! 

And as it creeps, and swells, and rings 

The very skin doth seem to crawl. 
With march of loathsome charnel things. 

Started the locks upon each brow. 

Like hair on angry mastiff's back — 

Each sign'd the cross, and made some vow — 

Pray'd Saints' defence against attack 

Of demon, as they deem'd him now. 

And even to this day the tale 

Is told, and telling men grow pale, 

And after legend of this knight — 

'Tie true I vow, God save the mark! 



62 LEONI DI MONOTA 

That bearded men thro' sheer affright, 
Fear e'en the shortest walk by dark. 
And further, does tradition say, 
That standing in the sunlight's gold, 
Those two alone stood calm and cold; 
Save that Monota's large, dark eyes, 
Flash'd for a moment with surprise, 
The next they shone as calm and chill. 
As moonlight on a frozen rill, 
That glitters in the midnight cold; — 
And further still, to me was told, 
That now his shadow did not lay 
Where it had lain upon the wide, 
White marble pavement, in a tide 
Of golden sunlight still and calm; 
And where his shadow lately swam. 
Was vacancy, and not a trace 
Was left unless in that wild face — 
Unless the form of that strange knight, 
So pale, so stern, so ghastly white. 
That stood Monota now beside. 
Had started from the golden tide. 



A LEGEND OF VEKONA, 

Trembles the duke, and shivers now, 

While fainting ladies breathe a vow 

And sign the crucifix on brow. 

As certain sounds make harp-strings quiver, 

So the clear tones that then uprose, 

In floating 'round made heart-chords shiver, 

And froze the flow of that red river 

Whose tide to passion ebbs and flows. 

Think, gentle sirs, that it must be, 

This tide that flows with every breath 

Must rush on to the silent sea, 

The solemn sea of death ! 
The wondrous voice that now uprose, 
Around them floats, around them flows; 
So cold, so sweet, so wondrous clear — 
So full of passionate despair, — 
That even now the sternest eye 
Grows wet, and yet they know not why. 
It swells along, like echo woke 
Within some cloister'd chamber's range, 
As if some apparition spoke. — 
It was so very, wondrous strange. 
So low, yet so distinct and strong — 



63 



64 LEONI DI MONOTA 

Above, below, it sweeps along, 
Like Ariel's wild, bewild'ring song; 
It floats, it flows, as wben the wing 
Of bee, or any otber thing, 
Makes hum which you distinctly hear 
Around, above you, every where. 
They look above — they look around — 
As if to see the mystic sound, 
Ah ! yonder is the whisper found ! 
Comes it from Leoni, or him 
Who stands beside him in the sun ? 
Where in the twilight growing dim, 
You well had deem'd them but as one, 
And felt the solemn thrill of awe 
Which fell on those who heard and saw. 
Simple and few, but startling, fell, 
Such words as these which now I tell. 
"Behold in me Valdarno's wife, 
"Mark ye this hand! it drove the knife! 
"That night I gather'd up each tress — 
"I donn'd as now, my brother's dress; 
"But why I did this deed you ask, 
* ' Grod ! 'tis indeed a bitter task ! 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 

*♦ Because she wrong' drValdarno's wifj; 

"Yes listen, sirs, I took her life, 

«' And I, all pale and splash'd with gore, 

"Count Beppo saw flee thro' the door. 

"Then spare Leoni; I, alone, 

" Should for the deed I did atone." 

As Beatrice thus spoke, a doubt 

Crept in the minds of those about. 

And dark Count Beppo's face grew pale 

While list'ning to the lady's tale. 

Valiant the duke — valiant and brave — 
With women, or a crouching slave; 
And now discov'ring that the sight 
Was neither charm nor hellish sleight — 
That what he deem'd a phantom knight 
Was all deception, he grew wroth — 
His brow and cheek turn'd ruddy dusk, 
And gather'd on his lip the froth 
Like that around the wild boar's tusk, 
When on a winter-hunting day 
The grizzled monarch turns at bay. 
Savage the tone his deep voice took, 
And fiercer now his dark eyes look, 



65 



66 LEONI DI MONOTA 

As out he thunder'd: "Take her hence — 
*'The captain of our guard — De Vence! 
** Seize — drag her forth — her cunning lie 
"Shall never save, for he must die! 
**Aye! by my father's soul and name — 
"I swear it by his latest breath, 
"That for this deed of sin and shame, 

" Monota dies the death 1" 
The captain, at the duke's command, 
Started, and stretch'd his swarthy hand; 
Then down he went like riven oak. 
When smitten by the thunder-stroke. 
No man of mortal mould might stand 
'Neath buffet from Monota's hand, 
Which made the dark blood spout and flow, 
And those who saw the heavy blow, 
Said: that it fell with such a shock, 
As might have splinter'd granite rock. 
Then rav'd the duke ; commotion rose ; 
The throng sway'd backward, to and fro, 
Like avalanche of Alpine snow, 
Before it seeks the vale below. 
Amid the din, with 'wilder'd glance, 
The lady stood like one in trance — 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 67 

Then gather'd on her brow a flush, 
Perchance, the fading sunset's blush — 
Then out it faded from her face^ 

She gave a sudden start; 
Like freezing tide in fragile vase 

The blood had burst her heart. 
Monota kneeling, rais'd her head — 
Sweet were the names he murmur'd o'er, 
But vain, alas! for she was dead, 
Her lips could answer him no more. 
And tho' the noble ne'er complain'd, 
For his proud front was well maintain'd, 

All pitied as he knelt. 
Then Beppo, with affrighted look, 
Uprais'd his voice, which strangely shook; 
Its tones were tremulous and thick. 
As those of aged man long sick, 
Who gasps and gathers in his breath. 
In the last agonies of death. 
**Lord Duke, upon this form I've gaz'd, 
"Profoundly, fearfully amaz'd; 
••And now may I from holy creed, 
•'Like Turkish infidel recede — 
"May shield, and lance, and sword, and steed — 



68 LEONI DI MONOTA 

**May God desert me at my need, 
"If I can tell which did the deed." 
One kiss, Monota slowly rose, 
His face was full of stern repose — 
There was no triumph for his foes. 
For such as he proudly disdain 
To show the evidence of pain; 
And tho' the heart be wrung the whUe, 
Will mask the anguish with a smile; 
And tho' the agony be deep, 
Such eyes as his may never weep. 
And now amid a solemn hush, 
Unbroken, save by sob, or gush 
Of woman's tears, they bear her out — 
Her liquid eyes are vacant now — 
The flush gone from her regal brow — 
Her lips no more on earth to vow — 
Dead, blighted like a summer bough: 
Nor all these tears, like April rain, 
Shall give the rent bough life again. 



VI. 



THE DOOM. 

When ceas'd the echo of their tread, 

Who bore the fair and pallid dead, 

Silence profound fell over all 

Within that vast tribunal hall. 

They listen'd ; for their throned duke 

Spoke in a voice of stern rebuke ; 

And dignity he could assume, 

As he would sword, or glove, or plume: 

But 'twas alone sustain'd by art, 

His was no grandeur of the heart, 

Which most man's crown'd and sceptred kings 

Should show in hate of evil things — 

Should hate ; but hating, only then. 

The deeds, and not their doers, men. 

But such was not his; no, oh not 

He simply triumph'd o'er a foe. 
7 69 



70 LEONI DI MONOTA 

His heavy eye-brows darkly met 
Above his eyes so deeply set, 
Where the wild eloquence of hate 
Told that his bosom was elate. — 
His tones were stern — they seem'd to freeze. 
His words perchance were such as these : 
•'Nobles and gentle sirs: to-day, 
* • A sight has risen on our view, 
** Which told in strolling minstrel's lay, 
* ' We never would accredit true ; 
' * And wondrous cnnning story told 
**By that poor lady now so cold; 
"But her's the fate of one of old, 
**Who unto the Apostle lied, 
**And then, as she, fell down and died. 
"When ministers of God about, 
"And surely such were here to-day, 
"Speak in such language who may doubt 
"God's deeds disprove what mortals say. 
"And tho' her words were all untrue, 
"Yet do we honor such deep love, 
"And pray that in the courts above 
"Her spirit hath found peace. 



A LEGEND OF TERONA- 



71 



• ' We say her story was not true — 
"'Tis known to most — to all of you, 
'•That on that sad, memorial night, 
"Mark'd by its scene of fear and fright, 
*«The radiant lady all the while 
'•Lit the gay revel with her smile." 
He paus'd, as if to win assent, 
While 'round confirming whisper went; 
For many a one had seen her glance, 
The loveliest in the festive dance. 
"But e'en, which all the saints forbid I 
"We^grant the stricken lady did 
"This deed of more than hellish guilt — 
"Yet, granting that this blood was spilt 
"By her fair hand and her's alone, — 
"Still, sirs, Monota must atone 
"For plot against his native state, 
' ' Which well deserves our honest hate." 
Then quoth he to the prisoner : ' ' Thou 
"At set of yonder sun must bow — 
"The last of all thy princely stock, — 
' ' Beside the headman's sable block. 
"Confess thyself: for death prepare — 
"The set of yondej: sun is near; 



72 LEONI DI MONOTA 

"And now our ancient law allows, 
**That you may speak, if so you list, 
"But better spend the time in vows, 
"For gathers fast the evening's mist." 
Had Stento's words been words of love 
Breath'd by such lips as Moslem deem, 
Are waiting for their souls above 
In that earth-heav'n of which they dream, 
Monota's heart had bounded high — 
His cheek had won a deeper dye, 
And softer shone his haughty eye; 
But now, whatever his thoughts, no trace 
Was written on his pallid face. 
No color came, no color fled. 
His brow grew neither pale, nor red; 
The same stern, dark, impassive air — 
The same indomitable stare — 
The cold, and broad sardonic sneer, 
With which he heard Count Beppo's tale, 
Now wreath'd his lip and lit his eye — 
That eye which did not shrink nor quail. 
When thus by Stento doom'd to die. 
His glance with his dark foeman's met. 
And those who saw could ne'er forget 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 73 

The outrance of that steady eye, 

Which spoke, before he made reply; 

His speech abrupt and strange begun — 

Old Stento trembled ere 'twas done : — 

It haunted him by night and day 

Like hov'ring vulture o'er its prey ; 

It rang in after years like howls 

To him whose glazing eye grows dim, 

Upon the battle-field where prowls 

The gaunt grey wolf who waits for him; 

Subtile the poison that he drank 

In Leoni's clear tones that day ; 

Which from his lips how e'er he shrank 

Would never, never pass away. 

In days of old, Egyptian spell 

Made Memnon's statue sunrise tell. 

Strange sounds those of the statue-king, 

And strange the spell, in sooth, we call! 

But Leoni's a stranger thing. 

For it gave voices unto all. 

And solemn music to appal — 

Which shaded Stento's brow with gloom 

When Leoni slept in the tomb. 



7-i LEONI DI MONOTA 

Its music was a dirge — its swell 
At morn, at noon, at midnight fell — 
The tolling of a funeral bell. 
To him on whom its wizard spell 
Clung, till it made the earth as hell. 
Clung, till it wrought its fated doom — 
A bloody shroud — a bloody tomb. 
Leoni's words — Leoni's look. 
Had all the meaning of that book 
Which England's Lord Protector shook; 
For from that day 'twas known to all, 
A simple shadow on the wall 
Had meaning Stento to appal — 
A kindly look, and he was sure 
The gazer evil purpose bore — 
His look assum'd but to allure — 
Till all the waves on slumber's shore 
"Were froth'd and red with crimson gore. 

He rose — the gladiator-knight — 
Confronting death with brow as free 
From any sign of fear or fright, 
As if his words were but * ' good night," 
After some sumptuous revelry. 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 

His speech abrupt, 'twas thus begun: 
Old Stento trembled ere 'twas done, 
"Once, I remember, 'twas in May, 
"An idle boyr in idle play, 
• ♦ Unconsciously of what I did 
"I crush'd a rose — a foolish thing, 
"For fierce wild bee within was hid, 
"And long I felt his dying sting: 
"So Stento, you to-day may crush 
"My youth in its first blush and bloom, 
"But thou canst never, never hush 
"The tones which from my bloody tomb. 
"Will pay thee back my early doom. 
" Aa for the murder, it must be, 
"To thee, and all, a mystery — 
" Of that I speak not. Lend thine ear 
"And tremble on thy ducal chair. 
"And, mark me! what I tell to thee, 
"Oh! Stento, is not told to save, 
"But simply, duke, that thou mayst see 
"Before thee, ever, thy red grave. 
"I tell thee, as I w^uld awake 
"A slumb'ring foe^ that he might quake 



75 



76 LEONI DI MONOTA 



"To see my coldly gleaming steel, 

* * And thus be doubly made to feel. 
"Now listen: that small billet told 
"Thee of conspiracy, as bold 
"As ever in the days of yore 
"Stretch'd kingly Caesar in his gore — 

* ' A week — another, day — thy throne — 

"'Tis known to thee, had been my own. 

"But on that scroll you saw not, no; 

"The names, a long and lordly row! 

* ' With me sworn to strike home the blow 

"That was to lay thee, tyrant, low. 

"Thou saw'st them not — they were not therCy 

"But many a prince, and many a peer, 

"Had couch'd for me his knightly spear, 

* ' And on the night of my arrest 

"Full many a blade had pierc'd thy breast, 

* • But that surprise left friends no time 
"To pay thee for thy life of crime. 
"Aye! I had such, sworn to abide, 
"In sudden rising, by my side, 
"Else why shouldj return where death 
"For me was lurking in thy breath? 



I 



A LEGEND OF VERONA. 77 

* ' Why should I leave the court of Franoe 
* ' Where mine was held the stoutest lance ? 
**Why should I come and brave thy frown, 
* * But to secure thy ducal crown ! 
*'Such was my stake — I play'd and lost — 
*' My purpose has been strangely cross'd; 
"But tho' I die, I say, dream not 
** TJieir purpose can be e'er forgot, 
**0r, check'd their deep and subtile plot. 
'^Bethink thee, Stento, in thy time, 
'*Thou'st done, old man, fuU many a crime I 
''Recall and think upon each debt 
**That others will repay thee yet. 

•*See in the wine thy sudden doom 

**See in thy bed a bloody tomb; 

**See in each hand the thirsty steel 

** Which thy accursed form shall feel. 

<> Thine eyes shall see where e'er they turn— 

** An epitaph — a funeral urn — 

"And thou shalt look, and looking groan, 

* * To see thy blood upon the stone. 

**I die; but sudden, Ijitter blight, 

** Shall fall upon thee in the night. 



78 LEONI DI MONOTA. 

"The gift I leave in going hence, 
*'Is that, oh! Stento of — suspense. 
"And when death comes, think of my fate- 
"My prophecy — my deathless hate. 
"I die: and 'twill be told in songs, 
"How Stento righted private wrongs. 
* ' For 'tis no treason 'gainst the state 
"That wins for me thy blood-hound hate. 
" Ah ha ! my lord ! truth 's a keen shaft," 
And here the reckless noble laugh'd. 
"And now behold this signet ring 
*' "With this the headsman I defy; 
* ' For here my spirit finds a wing — 
"'Tis thus — and only thus I die." 
The ring unto his lips he rai^'d — 
He press'd a spring, and as men gaz'd, 

Leoni Di Monota fell 
Dead on tlie marble floor. 



THE CHARGE AT BALAKLA7A 

DASHiNa onward, Captain Nolan 

Spurring furiously is seen — 
And altho' the road meanders, 
His no heavy steed of Flanders, 
But one fit for the commanders 

Of her majesty the Queen. 

Halting where the noble squadrons 

Stood impatient of delay. 

Out he drew his brief dispatches 

Which their leader quickly snatches. 

At a glance their meaning catches — 

They are order'd to the fray ! 
^9 



go THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. 

All that morning they had waited, 

— As their frowning faces show*d, — 
Horses stamping ; riders fretting, 
And their teeth together setting — 
Not a single sword-blade wetting 
As the battle ebb'd and flow'd. 

Now the fever'd spell is broken, 

Ev'ry man feels twice as large — 
Ev'ry heart is fiercely leaping, 
As a lion rous'd from sleeping, 
For they know they shall be sweeping 
In a moment to the charge. 

Brightly gleam six hundred sabres, 

And the brazen trumpets ring ; 
Steeds are gather'd — spurs are driven - 
And the heavens wildly riven 
With a mad shout upward given, 
Scaring vultures on the wing. 



THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. 81 

Stern its meaning : was not Gallia 

Looking down on Albion's sons? 
In each mind this thought implanted — 
Undismay'd, and all undaunted — 
By the battle-fiends enchanted, 

They ride down upon the guns. 

Onward! on! the chargers trample, 

Quicker falls each iron heel, 
And the headlong pace grows faster ; 
Noble steed, and noble master, 
Rushing on to red disaster. 

Where the heavy cannons peal. 

In the van rides Captain Nolan, 
Wide his flying tresses wave, 
And his heavy broad-sword flashes 
As upon the foe he dashes — 
God ! his face turns white as ashes, 

He has ridden to his grave. 

8 



82 THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. 

Down he fell, prone from his saddle 
Without motion, without breath, 
— Never more at trump to waken ! — 
He, the very first one taken 
From the bough so sorely shaken, 
In that vintage-time of Death ! 

In a moment, in a twinkling, 
He was gather'd to his rest, 
In the time for which he'd waited : — 
With his gallant heart elated, 
Down went Nolan — decorated — 
With a death-wound on his breast. 



Comrades still are onward charging. 

He is lying on the sod ; 
Onward still their steeds are rushing 
Where the shot and shell are crushing- 
From his corpse the blood is gushing, 

And his soul is with its God. 



THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. 

As they spur on, what strange visions 

Flit across each rider's brain ! 
Thoughts of maidens fair — of mothers — 
Friends and sisters — wives and brothers — 
Blent with images of others, 

Whom they ne'er shall see again. 

Onward still the squadrons thunder, 

— Knightly hearts were theirs and brave I- 
Men and horses without number 
All the furrow'd ground encumber, 
Falling fast to their last slumber — 
Bloody slumber ! bloody grave I 

Of that charge at Balaklava, 

— In its chivalry sublime! — 
Vivid, grand, historic pages 
Shall descend to future ages — 
Poets, painters, hoary sages, 

Shall record it for all time. 



84 THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. 

Telling how those English horsemen 
Kode the Russian gunners down. 
How with ranks all torn and shatter'd — 
How with helmets hack'd and batter'd — 
How with sword-arms blood-bespatter'd— 
They won honor and renown. 

*Twas "not war;" but it was splendid 

As a dream of old romance ; 
Thinking which their Gallic neighbors 
Thrill'd to watch them at their labors, 
Hewing red graves with their sabres 
In that wonderful advance. 



Down went many a gallant soldier — 
Down went many a stout dragoon; 

Lying grim, and stark, and gory, 

On the crimson'field of glory; 

Leaving us a wondrous story, 

And their white-cliflTd home a boon. 



THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. 85 

Full of hopes and aspirations 

Were their hearts at dawn of day; 
Now with forms all rent and broken. 
Bearing each some frightful token 
Of a scene ne'er to be spoken — 

In their silent sleep they lay. 

Here a noble charger stiffens, 

There his rider grasps the hilt 
Of his sabre, lying bloody 
By his side, upon the muddy 
Trampled ground, which darkly ruddy. 

Shows the blood that he has spilt. 



And to-night the moon shall shudder 

As she looks down on the moor. 

Where the dead of hostile races 

Slumber, slaughter'd in their places; 

All their rigid ghastly faces 

Spatter'd hideously with gore. 
8* 



86 THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA . 

And the sleepers, ah ! the eloepers, 
Made a Westminster that day, 

'Mid the seething battle's lava; 

And each man who fell shall have a 

Proud inscription — Balaklava 
Which shall never fade away I 



THE DREAMER»S REMONSTRANCE 

Tell me not the dreams I cherish — 

Tell me not I do entreat ; 
That they all must fade and perish, 

Tho' so beautiful and sweet. 

Tell me not, oh ! tell me never, 
That my dreams must all depart. 

If they 're dreams, then let them ever 
Shed their sunshine on ray heart. 

Tell me not my dreams are madness — 

Tell me not that life is dark — 
Crush not thus my young heartis gladness — 

Quench not Hope's irradiant spark. 

87 



88 THE DREAMER*S KEMONST^ANCE. 

Tell me not my dreams are cheating — 
Tell, oh! tell it not to me — 

Unsubstantial, as the fleeting 
Foam upon a summer sea. 

Tell me not that I must banish, 
Dreams in which I love to dwell; 

Tell me not that they must vanish. 
And my heart forget their spell. 

Tell me not 'tis boyish folly 

Cured by age, and age's sorrow; 

I have seen the reddest holly 
In the deepest winter glow. 

Tell me not the idle story; 

Nor expect me to believe, 
That my dreams with all their glory 

Come to mock me and deceive. 

Then, oh Stoic ! tell me never, 
That my dreams must all depart; 

If they 're dreams — then let them ever 
Swallow-like build in my heart ! 



89 



Let them thro' the summer flutter, 
If in winter they must go ; — 

Let them gay and glad songs utter, 
Now at least there is no snow. 



A BRIEF HISTORY. 

Ah me ! I see her dreamy eyes, 

Her dreamy eyes so soft and tender, 

Flooded with light, like midnight skies 
Lit by the solemn moon's sad splendor. 

Such eyes perchance Madonna had, 
Liquid, and luminous, and gleaming, 

With light serene, and yet how sad. 
As if they were forever dreaming ! 

And with their pensive lids bow'd down, 

They seem the heavy tears repressing, 

Or, with their lashes long and brown, 

Uprais'd, they seem to God expressing 
90 



A BRIEF HISTORY. 91 

Some silent pray'r ; — some pray'r so deep, 
And with angelic thoughts so laden, 

That very angels smile in sleep 

And dream still sweeter dreams in Aidenn. 

And tho' her eyes are kind and soft, 

I gaze upon their placid glances, 
As I would watch the stars aloft 

When rapt in their eternal trances. 

Serene and sad, they have a light 

Of pure, and calm, and saint-like glory, 

And yet the earnest gazer might 
See therein hid, how sad a story ! 

"Within her heart a statue stands — 
A Pompey's statue, stern in beauty — 

And slain beside it lies her love, 
Stabb'd by that very Brutus — duty. 

A kingly passion 'twas ; but now 

Over this Cossar of her feelings, 
No pleading Anthony, in tears 

Is heard in passionate appealings. 



92 A BRIEF HISTORY. 

And as I gaze, it is not strange 

While on the past my vision bending 

That I should see down its dark range 
A superstition old descending : 

Tou know in olden times 'twas held 
By men who thus believing trembled, 

That stabbing but an image would 
Most surely slay whom it resembled. 

And.seeing as I see my love — 

My love which was so unpropitious, 

Thus stricken down, because, alas! 
Like Caesar, it was too * ' ambitious.** 

I feel strange terror, and I stand 
Gazing upon my image lying 

Within that Senate-chamber, and 
Weep o'er it in its piteous dying. 

I almost fancy that old spell 

Revives anew ; but the infliction 

I know cannot be mine full well — 
I know, with you, 'tis but a fiction. 



A BRIEF HISTOEY. 

And she, dear lady, suffers much; 

She only waits for God to claim her, 
And oh ! her gentleness is such 

That not in thought or word I blame her. 

While in hope's twilight turning grey, 
Meekly she strives against dejection, 

Her mournful, dark eyes turn'd away 
From any dream or retrospection. 

Then wonder not that thus I write, 
Nor that her eyes have me enchanted ; 

For once to meet their tender light 
Is ever after to be haunted. 



93 



TO ZENOVA. 



"And oh I she dances such a way 
No sun upon an Easter day 
Ja half so fine a sight." — SiE John SxroKLnre. 



I HAVE often Btood, fair lady — 
Stood to watch thee in the dance, 

Till I fancied it a vision — 
Or> an opiate's golden trance. 

Every movement — every motion. 
As thy small feet beat the time. 

Full of grace as wave of ocean, 
And of music as a rhyme 

Which is woven by some poet 
In so gay and glad a strain. 
That in reading, we bethink us 

Of the April drops of rain. 

94 



TO ZENOVA. 95 

Like a shadow onward gliding 

Now as gracefully you go; — 
Or, a water flag when riding 

On some star-lit river's flow. 

And thy face is ever changing 

With the changes of the tune, 
As they say the waters vary 

With the changes of the moon. 

Now thine eyes are downward looking — 

Now upraised in laughing light, 
Ever fitful in their lustre 

Like the tropic waves at night. 

With thine arms crossed on thy bosom — 
— Like a statue's how they gleam I — 

Thou art beautiful, fair lady. 
As a poet-sculptor's dream. 

And I ponder, fair Zenova, 

K thy slight form hath not grown 
Into statue by Canova — 

** Dancing girl" of pallid stone? 



96 TO ZENOVA. 

But when I could deem thee marble, 
And the cheat might well believe, 

Then I see thy snowy bosom's 
Long, slow, undulating heave. 

Like a lily which is bursting 
In the silent midnight's hour — 

When the moon is on the water 
From its bud into the flower. 

Gazing thus on thee enraptured 
With a pleasure almost pain ; 

While I wish that — yes — forever 
Thy fair form might thus remain. 

Even then, away thou 'rt springing 
Like a bird upon the wing, 

Or a willow bough when swinging 
To the early breath of Spring. 



A COMMON EXPEKIENCE, 

Scarce any words could tell 

How I did love her; 
How my young heart did swell — 
Truly I lov'd her well, 

Saw none above her! 

Ah! she was passing fair 

Radiant, yet tender ; 
With all her wealth of hair 
Dream-like she did appear, 

Full of strange splendor! 

Under the summer skies — 

Day and night haunted — 

Fool'd by her looks and sighs, 

. Witch'd by her splendid eyes, 

I was enchanted, 
9* 97 



98 A COMMON EXPERIENCE. 

So: bow'd beneath her yoke, 

In all love's madness, 
Wild words to her I spoke — 
Said : that like Raleigh's cloak, 
Life and its gladness 

Fd fling down, if she might 

Deign but to use it ; 
And she, that summer night 
Flooded with mellow light, 
Did not refuse it. 

No; but she leant her head, 

With its rare tresses, 
Full on my breast and said : 
That she would wake though dead 
At my caresses. 

While the soft breezes fann'd 

All the sweet roses — 
She even kiss'd my hand, 
Press'd to my bosom — and, 
Go ask the roses. — 



A COMMON EXPERIENCE. 99 

Days pass'd, ah ! golden days, 

Hope never trembled, 
And I wove foolisli lays 
Winning her hollow praise — 

How she dissembled ! 

Nights pass'd, ah! dreamy nights, 

Nights that were trances — 
Full of love's wild delights — 
Skies that were starr'd with lights 

Lit by her glances. 

Then came the bitter times 

Full of commotion, 
When my poor, boyish rhymes 
Mov'd her no more than chimes 

Rung o'er the ocean. 

When the plebeian came 

Smirking and stealthy 
In speech and person lame — 
Vulgar in race and name — 

But, he was wealthy! 



100 A COMMON EXPERIENCE. 

And she, a living lie, 
Grrew each day colder, 

Till at a revel, I, 

When her new love was nigh 
Touch'd her white shoulder. 

And though her brow grew black- 

With purpose certain 
Out of the dancer's track, 
I drew her — gave her back, 
Under a curtain. 

Gave her back letters — all 

With brow unshaded — 
Trinkets both great and small. 
Then turning left the hall — 
Never upbraided. 

Days pass'd, ah ! bitter days 

Full of commotion ; 
Clouds without gilding rays- 
Waves bearing no estraies 
From hope's far ocean. 



A COMMON EXPERIENCE. 101 

Then came a letter, black 

Was the armorial 
Seal, which upon its back 
Told me of death's attack 

On the memorial— 

On the memorial race 

Whence I descended; 
Open'd: with flushing face 
I found in life my place 

Strangely amended. 

Wealth ! acres broad ! all mine 

And mine only ! 
Here was a fable fine — 
Here was a draught of wine — 

Now was I lonely ? 

No ! I would up and don 

Man's noble armor — 
All life's great lessons con — 
Upward I would, and on! 

Leave this false charmer. 



102 A COMMON EXPERIENCE. 

How she did try again 

Back to entice me, 
Need not be told — in vain 
'Twas, for my faith was slain — 

Once would suffice me. 

Since then long years have pass'd, 

That love has perish'd; 
Now dreams before me, vast, 
Rise upward thick and fast, 
Dreams far more cherish'd. 

And I to-night have trod, 

While stars were sinking, 
Out on the dewy sod 
Where blossoms praise their God- 
O'er past days thinking. 

Thinking this night of June 

'Mid these sweet roses. 
While yonder still lagoon 
Gleameth beneath the moon 
Where she reposes. 



A COMMON EXPERIENCE. 103 

So : twelve ! my love will scold 

At the night's lateness; 
But that old tale is told — 
Hence, all my path is gold 

With love and greatness. 



A SHORT SERMON. 

"fle that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord." 

The night- wind comes in sudden squalls; 
The ruddy fire-light starts and falls 
Fantastically on the walls. 

The bare trees all their branches wave; 
The frantic wind doth howl and rave, 
Like prairie-wolf above a grave. 

And tho' the storm is on the wane, 
Still thro' the lattice, on the pane 
Spatters the heavy dismal rain. 

The moon looks out; but cold and pale, 
• And seeming scar'd at this wild gale. 
Draws o'er her pallid face a veil. 

104 



A SHORT SERMON4 105 



In vain I turn the poet's page — 
In vain consult some ancient sage — 
I hear alone the tempest rage. 

The shutters tug at hinge and bar— 
The windows clash with frosty jar — 
The child creeps closer to *'Papa." 

And now, I almost start aghast, 
The clamor rises thick and fast, 
Surely a troop of fiends drove past! 

That last shock shook the oaken door, 
Sounding like billows on the shore, 
On such a night, God shield the poor! 

God shield the poor to-night, who stay 
In piteous homes I who if they pray 
Ask thee, oh God! for bread and day! 



Think ! think ! ye men who daily wear 

"Purple and linen" — ye, whose hair 

Flings perfume on the temper'd air, 
10 



106 * A SHORT SERMON. 

Think ! think ! I say, aye ! start and think 
That many tremble on death's brink — 
Dying for want of meat and drink. 

When tatter'd poor folk meet your eyes, 
Think, friend, like Christian, in this wise, 
Each one is Christ hid in disguise. 

Then when you hear the tempest's roar 
That thunders at your carved door. 
Know that, it knocketh for the poor. 



A LITTLE PICTURE. 

Oft wten pacing thro' the long and dim 

Dark gallery of the Past, I pause before 

A picture of the which this is a copy — 

Wretched at best. 

How fair she look'd, standing a-tiptoe there, 

Pois'd daintily upon her little feet! 

The slanting sunset falling thro' the leaves 

In golden glory on her smiling face, 

Upturn'd towards the blushing roses ; while 

The breeze that came up from the river's brink, 

Shook all their clusters over her fair face ; 

And sported with her robe, until methought, 

That she stood there clad, wondrously indeed! 

In perfume and in music : for her dress 

Made a low rippling sound, like little waves 

That break at midnight on the tawny sands— 

While all the evening air of roses whisper'd. 
107 



108 A LITTLE PICTURE. 

Over her face a rich, warm blush spread slowly, 
And she laugh'd, a low, sweet, mellow laugh. 
To see the branches still evade her hands — 
Her small white hands, which seem'd indeed, as if 
Made only thus to gather roses. 

Then with face 
All flush' d and smiling, she did nod to me 
Asking my help to gather them for her: 
And so, I bent the heavy clusters down, 
Show'ring the rose-leaves o'er her neck and face ; 
Then carefully she pluck'd the very fairest one, 
And court'seying playfully, gave it to me — 
Show'd me her finger-tip, prick'd by a thorn, 
And when I would have kiss'd it, shook her head — 
Kiss'd it herself, and mock'd me with a smile ! 

The rose she gave me sleeps between the leaves 
Of an Old Poet, where its sight oft brings 
That summer evening back again to me. 



MY VISIT 

The heavy curtains still were there, 

The books, and ev'ry antique chair; 

The pictures — each hung in its frame; 

And yet the room was not the same; 
For, gazing on her velvet seat, 
I miss'd her form so fair and sweet. 



And ne'er did that apartment seem 

So very fit a place to drsam — 

— Thro' crimson curtains fell the sun; — 

But ah ! to dream — it wanted one 

Whom I had thought to find within it — 

They told me she had **gone that minute." 
10* 109 



110 MY VISIT. 

An open book I took — metliought, 
Its leaves had subtle fragrance caught 
From the small snowy fingers which 
With perfume, could a rose enrich, 
Or violets, or other posies, 
Which are far sweeter than the roses. 



The book was one of ancient rhymes, 
Which we together read sometimes ; 
And pencil marks by her light hand 
Show'd the last pages she had scann'd : - 
'Twas an old tale, which we together 
Had paus'd on oft in wintry weather. 



Had it been Missal, I had not 
Replac'd it in its self-same spot. 
With half the reverence and care 
With which I laid it in her chair ; 
To me 'twas holy; her soft touch 
Maketh the meanest thing as such. 



MY VISIT. '■^^ 



The ottoman beside her seat, 

That morn had borne her dainty feet; 

And soberly, it seem'd to me, 

The 'broider'd dog for very glee 

Still wagg'd his tail; the thought is mad, 
That worsted spaniel could be glad? 



Nay ! had you ever seen dear Maude, 
I know that you would yield accord, 
That even worsted lap-dog might 
Show symptoms of extreme delight 
At her foot's pressure; and the flowers, 
Esteem it sweeter far than showers. 



Since I stood there before, to me 
The room was chang'd ; tho' drapery, 
Tho' pictures, ornaments, and all. 
Were on the floors, or on the wall: 
Surpris'd, I mutter'd, ''is it, is it 
All so much chang'd, since my last visit?'* 



112 MY VISIT. 

I sadly took my hat and cane — 
Assur'd tli^m I would ' * call again ;" 
And nibbling at my whale-bone stick, 
Said to myself — "deuce take the trick!" — 
Which straight reminded me — ill starr'dl- 
I had forgot to leave my card. 



REPLY TO A YOUNG LADY, 



a can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, 
Than be one of the twenty to foUow mine own teachmg." 

Merchant op VbnioBi 

"Do as I tell you, and not as I do."— Old Saying. 



You say, a ''moral sign-post" I 
Point out the road towards the sky ; 
And then with glance so very sly 
You archly ask me, lady, why 
I hesitate myself to go 
In the direction which I show? 



To answer is an easy task. 

If you allow me but to ask 

One little question, sweet, of you: — 

'Tis this ; should sign-posts travel too, 

What would bewilder'd pilgrims do^ 

Celestial pilgrims, such as you? 
113 



THE MONITORY CLOCK. 

Hear the clock upon the mantle 
Ticking on with measur'd chime — 

Ev'ry stroke the heavy breathing 
Of the flying wizard, Time. 

Loud and sadly it is counting 
Moments as they hurry past; 

Telling that old Poet's story — 
Telling time flies quick and fast. 

Hear it? ticking, ticking, ticking, 

Like the rain-drops from the eaves; 

Think ! each strong and clear vibration, 

With the Past its echo leaves 
114 



THE MONITORY CLOCK. 115 

And its tones so sad and solemn, 

—Some would deem the thought absurds- 
Have an eloquence surpassing 

That of any spoken word. 

Each one rings a proclamation, 

As it through my chamber floats; 
Which may simply be translated, 

"We are but life's funeral notes." 

Then, oh man! whene'er thou hearest 

From the clock its sullen boom, 
Pause, and pausing then remember. 

Thou art nearer to the tomb. 

Hast thou some old clock that standeth 
Ominous, and quaint, and strange, 

In thy chamber — on thy stairway — 
In some cloister'd passage range? 

If thou hast then sit some evening — 
Gaze, and gazing hold thy breath; 

See its grim hands busy writing 
Out a warrant for thy death. 



THE JOYS OF CHILDHOOD. 

The joys of childhood — what are they? 
But rosy-tinted drops of spray 
From youth's sweet fount, that gush and play 
A little at the dawn of day. 

The joys of childhood! who may tell 

In those few words the charms that dwell? 

They vibrate with a witching spell, 

They steal upon us like the swell 

Of richest music from a bell, 

Lost in the distance blue and deep, 

Where childhood's dreams have gone to sleep. 

The joys of childhood, are, alas ! 
But as the dew upon the grass ; — 
Like shadows in a broken glass. 
That brokenly themselves do pass; 
They are the rings upon the green. 
Showing where fairy hopes have been. 

IIG 



MEA CULPA. 

CoLDLT censorious, 

Others condemn, 
Faults so notorious — 

Sad faults to tliem ! 
Cold eyes contumelious. 

Sternly convey, 
Reproof that is bitter, 
"While thine, — which were fitter- 
Still lovingly glitter — 

Glitter through tears ; 
Liquid and luminous 

Still through their tears. 

Never contumelious — 

Not once in years! 
11 117 



118 ME A CULPA. 

But, brightest saint ! 

Those dark eyes of thine, 
When weary or faint 

Can refresh me like wine^ 
Would God ! I could paint 

This contrition of mine — 
Then let them gleam, love, 

Lights on my shrine — 
Bright stars to me, love — 

Radiant, divine! 
And all their glances 

Mine, only mine ! 
That, love, when kneeling — 

Kneeling in pray'r — 
Praying, revealing 
Each penitent feeling — 
To God appealing. 

They may be there ! 



TO AMOLITA 

Oh i can it ever, ever be 

That I may hope to find 
Some river running to the sea 

Of Amolita's mind — 
That I may launch upon its stream 
A bark with this my last love-dream? 

'Tis too much like a sea, alas! 

Unbroke by breath of love, 
Its sleeping waters only glass 

The Heav'n that bends above, 
Whose tranquil thoughts like stars are all 
The lights upon its rise or fall. 

119 



120 TO AMOLITA. 

It is, alas ! I know, I feel, 

No pool which I beside 

May in my deep devotion kneel, 
» 

And see upon its tide, 

My features gleam ; ah ! not for me 

Can such a picture ever be — 

How bitter is my destiny ! 

No more my bark with golden dream 
Unfurls its purple sail ; 

It never more on other stream 
May glide before the gale, 

Which with its perfum'd breath impels 

The dreamer, in love's rosy spells. 



Then all alone I'll brave the blast, — 

Nay ! lady, never frown ! 
For all above is overcast — 
Gone silken sail and shatter'd mast, 
And now the bark goes down. 
The dreamer's dream is o'er — his last- 
Alone he now confronts the blast. 



GREY BAYARD— An Ancient Story. 



The Mounting. 

The camp is astir, and the men muster fast; 
Good Hubert, ring out on my bugle a blast : 

Then saddle me Bayard! my noble grey steed! 
Surely soldier had never a better at need ! 

He can leap any chasm I ever have found — 
He can swim any river with roebuck or hound. 

Ho! saddle me Bayard! the spears on the plain, 
Are thick as the hairs in his torrent-like mane. 

And look to the girths! see them trusty and strong — 
The harvest 's before us — the day will be long — • 

And Death the great reaper, fair gallants, ye know, 
Goeth forth this fair morning, — Ha! yonder's the foe! 

And here comes grey Bayard ! didst ever see, sirs, 

A steed upon which ye might sooner win spurs? 
11* 121 



122 GREY BAYARD. 

What a neck ! what a crest ! how the strong muscles 

swell — 
By my fay ! gallant Bayard, I love thee right well ! 

See his wide-spreading nostrils breathe fire and mists — 
On his back I would front even Fate in the lists. 

So, Bayard! ho, fellow! you pant for the fray? 

How my heart throbs when mounted, my beautiful grey 

And Bayard, remember: my banner so grand, 
Was wrought in device by my fair Ladie's hand. 

And hark to the trumpets ! and hark to the drum ! 

Tho' the knaves are base rebels, right proudly they come ! 

Hear the clash, and the tramp! how they swell with a 

sound 
That stirreth the blood like the bay of a hound ! 

Now, Hubert, my lance ! So, my vizor is down ; 
Let us ride, my gay gallants, and win us renown. 

Let us rout these false caitiffs: the king 's in yon i^ronp 
Shake my banner abroad ; let the wild falcon stoop I 



GREY BAYARD. 



123 



The Battle. 

There was wheeling of squadrons, the charge of 

brigades — 
There was clatter of axes, and clashing of blades; — 

There was clangor of trumpets, and trample of steeds — 
There was shouting of war-cries, and doing of deeds ; — 

There was rending of harness, and breaking of spears — 
There was slaughter of burghers, and slaughter of peers. 

And where men fell thickest that mid-summer day, 
Stoutly struck a brave knight on a dark iron grey. 

Like a thunder-bolt cleaving its way thro' the pines. 
When the tempest-cloud bursts on the blue Appenines — 

So he made thro' his foemen a terrible path — 
Dealing death unto all who encounter'd* his wrath. 



(24 GREY BAYARD. 



The Health. 



The moon shone serenely. The gallant knight lay 
Sorely wounded, and weary; and down was the grey, 

Near a brook that in flowing seem'd singing a tune — 
A song, as it were, to the beautiful moon. 

The soldier was thirsty; he crawl'd to the bank — 
But ere of its waters the brave noble drank, 

His helmet all batter'd he fill'd with its tide — 
He stagger'd again to his grey charger's side — 

Then held it down feebly, and never drank first, 

Tho' his lips were all parching and burning with thirst. 

He sat there with patience. The steed he drank long — 
What a picture, ye gentles, for pencil or song! 

And tho' in the moonlight the water shone red. 
He carried it next to his own dizzy head. 

"Ho, Bayard! this draught is as crimson as wine — 
I drink to thee Bayard and fair Eoline !' 

A short broken pray'r, and the cross on his breast — 
What need, my fair gallants, to tell you the rest! 

The shadows grew long, and the silence fell deep, 
Where the knight and his charger had sunk into sleep. 



THE RUSTIC LOVER'S SOLILOQUY. 

How like an Alexander now he stands 

Between the sunshine of her eyes and me ! 

And yet with these emhrown'd and brawny hands, 
From this heart-conqueror I could set me free — 

Could fling him from me, as the clod which now 

Lays torn and crumpled, underneath my plough. 

Yet sooth it was ; I saw that he was able — 

This smooth-chinn'd fop, with his pink baby face, 

By dropping — as the bird in the old fable 
His pebble — compliments into the vase 

That held her vanity; — I say, such wiles 

Were paid with blushes and o'er-running smiles. 

But pshaw ! my lazy horses know I dream, 
Away with such fool-fancies ! she shall see 

That I can find some other sun to beam 
From other eyes upon my destiny, 

Which tho' tis humble, still may glow in light 

From eyes more true, if not indeed more bright. 
125 



MY TWO aiFTS 

I GAVE that earnest love of mine 

Unto a lady fair; — 
I gave it as a cup of wine, 

And bless'd it with a pray'r. 
Her vanity athirst drank up 
The wine wherewith I fill'd the cup ; 
And then — her face half smile, half frown, 
She laughing shook her tresses brown 
And threw the empty goblet down. 



She open'd wide her splendid eyes 

In very wonder and surprise ; 

And well I mark'd the lady's glance ; 

She thought to see it break, perchance. 
126 



MY TWO GIFTS. 127 

Since then I've filled it to the brim 
With wine to which the first were dim — 
With wine that hath been trod and press'd, 
The purest vintage of my breast; 
The last, and yet, the latest — best, 
As at the feast of old, we know, 
The best was latest in its flow. 



That goblet was my heart; and now 

'Tis fiU'd for one whose look, 
Hath more of truth than any vow 

E'er plighted on a book. 
And to this lady, half divine, 
I've given now the latest wine: 
And I have said, *'of old, we know 
The best was latest in its flow." 
And should this wine, my love, disdain. 
The cup can ne'er be fill'd again. 



THE PORTRAIT OF A CERTAIN LADY. 

You ask me for ' ' this lady's face ;" 
As well might I attempt to paint 
The wondrous beauty and the grace 
Of angel, or of saint ! 

Her forehead hath a warm, soft tint, 

Amid her dark hair's silken flow — 
A hue which gives a ruddy hint 
Of sunsets over snow. 



Her liquid eyes are full of spells — 

I gaze upon them, and I say; 

"That they are like deep, tranquil wells, 

Where stars shine all the day." 
128 



THE PORTRAIT OF A CERTAIN LADY. 129 

Her lips, the' autumn red, are such — 

So pure, so very pure — that. I 
Would tremble more to dream their touch, 
Than even thrice to die. 

And from them floats her laugh, as clear, 

As when your careless hand you fling 
Across drops on a chandelier, 

Making them faintly ring. 

And when she laughs, warm blushes rise, 
And spread across each glowing cheek, 
Lighting anew her dark, bright eyes, 
Until they fairly speak ! 

Sustaining well her matchless face, 

Rises her throat so round and fair : 
Half hid by faintly perfum'd lace, 
And soft luxuriant hair. 

And then her head is pure antique — 

Its locks arranged in simple bands — 

Seeming a copy from the Greek, 

By poet-sculptor's hands. 
12 



130 THE PORTRAIT OF A CERTAIN LADY. 

Her classic head the lady bows, 
It is her wont full oft to pray; 
So, while she pays her saintly vows, 
The painter '11 steal away. 



THE HEALTH. 

I DRINK to thee, dear girl, 
And tho' this wine were e'en the same 
Anacreon's odes have given to fame, 
'Twould blush still deeper at thy name. 

Again I fill to thee, 
And as I swell the choral hymn, 
The wine that flashes on the brim, 
Unto thy splendid eyes seems dim. 

Once more, yes, love, once more, 

And, tho' this wine had been express'd 

By Bacchus, for some God-like guest, 

Yet, by thy name 'twere richly bless'd; 
131 



132 THE HEALTH. 

Then, love, again I fill 
This goblet up with wine ; 
And hallow its deep crimson shine, 
With a sweet name, thine, dearest, thine! 

I swell the hymn again — 
I sing thy praise — I tell them how 
Regal and grand thy glorious brow, 
Which cleaves the billows of thy hair 
Like to a broad and snowy prow, 
Cleaving a midnight sea. 



LOUIS' THOUGHTS AFTER HIS BRIDAL. 

Yet, often times when gazing 

On my young bride's radiant brow, 
— Whicb well deserves such praising 

As the kiss I gave but now, — 
Comes the shadow of another — 

Of one I knew of old, 
In a strong and vivid vision, 

With her hair that gleam'd like gold: 
And her crimson lips seem speaking 

In a whisper that same vow, 
That she murmur'd out in breathings, 

Which still ripple o'er my brow, 
With the same soft liquid lustre 

Gleaming from her dreamy eyes, 

Like the quiet star-light streaming 

Fiom the tranquil autumn skies. 
•[■2* 133 



134 LOUIS' THOUGHTS AFTER HIS BRIDAL. 

But a living, bright deception, 

Did she prove herself to me ; 
At the gorgeous shrine of Mammon, 

Long ago she how'd her knee. 
'Twas a sin that one so lovely, 

All her beauty should debase; 
Selling it for silks and satins, 

Paltry gems and flimsy lace. 
And I? — but I am happy — 

For my bride is *' passing fair," 
And my brow hangs out no banner 

With the blazonry of care. 



aO THOU AND SIN NO MORE!'' 

On! when shame's sad eyes are turning 

In their supplication meek, 
Turn not away, with anger burning 

On thy tear-unsullied cheek. 

Turn not away ! be not unfeeling ! 

Listen to the mourner's pray'r; 
Have mercy on the poor one kneeling, 

And o'er grief shed pity's tear. 

Scorn not the fallen ! hear tlieir pleading ! 

Trample not the breaking heart! 

But mercifully staunch its bleeding, 

And the balm of hope impart. 
135 



130 "GO TIIOU AND SIN NO MORE. 

Perchance you never felt the power 
Of temptation or its spell ; 

Bethink thee, in unguarded hour 

That the trembling suppliant fell. 

Think upon the Saviour's words, when 
Cups of criminals run o'er; 

Teach with mildness; brother, say then 
To the erring, "Sin no more!" 

When some victim of disaster 

Trembling in the market stands. 

Think upon thy gentle Master, 

Take no stone within thy hands. 

For God's servant never launches 
Stones at any in their shame ; 

Give then, brother, olive branches, 
Thus the erring we reclaim. 



THE EYES OF AN UNKNOWN BEAUTY. 

Her bright eyes, I can see them yet; 

Her eyes of darkest hue ; 
Black as a raven's wing of jet 
Which in the summer's morn is wet 

With heavy drops of dew. 

I see them now; just half reveal'd, 
Their white lids o'er them bow'd ; 

But shining still, as stars conceal'd 

Will yet their subtle lustre yield 
Thro' some white drifting cloud. 

Soft as obscur'd moonlight that streams 

Across the midnight sea ; 

Like memories of faded dreams. 

That trouble us with fitful gleams, 

Those eyes are haunting me. 
137 



LINES ON A MINIATURE. 

When Badness or sorrow my spirits invade — 
When a moment of gloom draweth nigh, 

Then I turn to this image, and tho' but a shade, 
Still before it the dark shadows fly. 

For I see on this brow — in its sweetness divine - 

The seal of fair innocence press'd; 
And find in this picture, which truly is thine, 
New life — as the fainting find vigor in wine, 
So a look bringeth hope to my breast. 

As the Arab traversing the wild desert way, 

In the sultry mid-summer of June, 

Has never forgotten devoutly to pray, 

When the red sun proclaimeth it noon. — 
138 



LINES ON A MINIATURE. 139 

So, lady, I ne'er have forgotten to gaze 

Upon this, and to offer my pray'r; 
Which daily to HeaVn I votively raise, 

To shield thee, and keep thee from care. 

And tho' in life's desert I ne'er pitch a tent — 

Altho' not a fountain it hath, 
I ne'er shall forget 'twas thy kindness that lent 

Some light to my desolate path. 



A STORY OF THE CARAOCAS VALLEY. 



Dedicated to Bayard E. Hand, Esq., U. S. Navy, by his old friend and 
former mess-mate. 



High-perch'd upon the rocky way, 
Stands a Posada stern and grey ; 
Which from the valley, seems as if, 
A condor there had paus'd to 'light 
And rest upon that lonely cliflf, 

From some stupendous flight; 
But when the road you gain at length. 
It seems a ruin'd hold of strength. 
With archway dark, and bridge of stone. 
By waving shrubs all overgrown. 
Which cling around that ruin'd gate. 
Making it look less desolate ; 
For here and there a wild flow'rs bloom 
With brilliant hue relieves the gloom. 
Which clings 'round that Posada's wall — 
A sort of misty funeral pall. 

140 



A STORY OF THE CARACCAS VALLEY. 14] 

The gulf spann'd by that olden arch 
Might stop an army's onward march, 

For dark and dim — far down below 

'Tis lost amid a torrent's flow ; 

And blending with the eagle's scream 

Sounds dismally that mountain-stream,* - 

That rushes foaming down a fall 

"Which Chamois hunter might appal, 

Nor shame his manhood, did he shrink 

In treading on its dizzy brink. 

In years long past, ere bridge or wall 
Had spann'd that gulf and wator-f\ill, 
Tis said — perhaps, an idle tale — • 
That on the road above the vale 
Occurr'd as strange and wild a scone, 
As ever ballad told, I ween. — 
Yes, on this road which seems to be 
Suspended o'er eternity; 
So dim — so shadow-like — the vale 
O'er which it hangs : but to my tale : 



* This is a topographical inaccuracy upon which the author has ventured 
under the sanction of "poetic license.** 
18 



142 A STORY OF THE CAKACCAS VALLEY. 

Once, 'tis well known, this sunny laud 
Was ravag'd by full many a band 

Of reckless buccaniers. 
Cities were captur'd* — old men slain; 
Trampled the fields of waving cane ; 
Or scatter'd wide the garner'd grain ; 

An hour wrought wreck of years ! 

Where'er these stern freebooters trod, 
In hacienda — church of God — 
Or, on the green-enamell'd sod — 

They left foot-prints so deep. 
That but their simple names would start 
The blood back to each Spanish heart, 

And make the children weep. 

E'en to this day, their many crimes 
The peasants sing in drowsy rhymes — 

On mountain , or on plain ; 
And as they sing, the plaintive song 
Tells many a deed of guilt and wrong — 

Each has a doleful strain! 

* Panama, Carthagena, Maracaibo, and Chagres, were at various times 
held by the buccaniers. 



A STORY OF THE CAUAOCAS VALLEY. 143 



One glorious morn, it so befell, 
r heard the tale which I shall tell, 
At that Posada dark and grey 
Which stands upon the mountain way, 
Between Caraccas and the sea; 
So grim — so dark — it seem'd to me 
Fit place for deed of guilt or sin — 
Tho' peaceful peasants dwelt therein. 



x\.t midnight we, (my friends and I,) 
Beneath a tranquil tropic sky, 
Ikstrode our mules and onward rode, 
Behind the guide who swiftly strode 
Up the dark mountain side ; while we 
With many a jest and repartee — 
With jingling swords, and spurs, and bits- 
Made trial of our youthful wits. 
Ah I we were gay, for we were young 
And care had never on us flung — 



144 A STORY OF THE CAHACCAS VALLEY, 

But, to my tale: the purple sky 
Was thick o'erlaid with burniug stars, 
And oft the breeze that murmur'd bj, 
Brought dreamy tones from soft guitars, 
Until we sank in silence deep. 
It was a night for thought not sleep — 
It was a night for song and love — 
The burning planets shone above — 
The Southern Cross was all a- blaze — 
— 'Tis long since it then met my gaze! — 
Above us, whisp'ring in the breeze, 
Were many strange, gigantic trees. 
And in their shadow, deep and dark, 
Slept many a pile of mould' ring bones; 
For tales of murder fell and stark, 
Are told by monumental stones 
Flung by the passer's hand, until, 
The place grows to a little hill. 
Up through the shade we rode, nor spoke. 
Till suddenly the morning broke. 
Beneath we saw in purple shade 
The mighty sea; above displayed, 
A thousand gorgeous hues which met 
In tints that I remember yet; 



A STORY OF THE CARACCAS VALLEY. 145 

But which I may not paint, my skill, 
Alas! would but depict it ill — 
E'en Claude has never given hints 
On canvas of such splendid tints ! 
The mountains, which ere dawn of day 
I'd liken'd unto friars grey — 
Gigantic friars clad in grey — 
Stood now like kings, wrapp'd in tlie fold 
Of gorgeous clouds around them roll'd — 
Their lofty heads all crowu'd with gold ; 
And many a painted bird went by 
Strange to my unaccustom'd eye — 
Their plumage mimicking the sky. 
O'er many a league, and many" a mile — 
Crag — pinnacle — and lone defile — 
All nature woke! — woke with a smile — 
As tho' the morning's golden gleam 
Had broken some enchanting dream, 
But left its soft impression still. 
On lofty peak and dancing rill. 
With many a halt and many a call, 
At last we saw the rugged wall. 
And gaz'd upon the ruin'd gate 
Which oven then look'd desolate, 



146 A STOKY UF THE OARACCAS VALLKV 

For that Posada so forlorn 
Seem'd sad e'en on so gay a morn ! 
The heavy gate at length unharr'd, 
We rode within the busy yard, 
Well scatter'd o'er with many a pack; 
For on that wild, romantic track, 
The long and heavy-laden trains 
Toil seaward from the valley's plains. 
And often on its silence swells 
The distant tinkle of the bells. 
While muleteers' shrill, angry cries 
From the dim road before you rise ; 
And such were group'd in circles rount^ 
Playing at monte on the ground ; 
Each swarthy face that met my eye 
To thought of honesty gave lie, 
In each fierce orb there was a spark 
That few would care to see by dark — 
And many a sash I saw gleam thro' 
The keen cuchiUo^ into view. 
Within ; the place was rude enough — 
The walls of clay — in color buflf — 

* CuchUlo — a knife. 



A STORY OV THE CAKACCAS VALLEY. 1 17 

A pictur'd saint — a cross or so — 

A hammock swinging to and fro — 

A gittern by the window laid 

Whereon the morning breezes play'd, 

And its low tones and broken parts 

Seem'd like some thoughtless minstrel's arts — 

A rugged table in the floor — 

Ran thfo' this homely comedor.'^ 

Here, weary as you well may think, 

An hour or so we made abode, 

To give our mules both food and drink. 

Before we took again the road; 

And honestly, our own repast 

Was that of monks from lenten fast. 

The meal once o'er ; our stores replac'd ; 

We gather'd where the window fac'd 

Upon the vale, and gaz'd below 

Where mists from a mad torrent's flow 

Were dimly waving to and fro. 

Meanwhile, the old guitar replied 

To the swift fingers of our guide : 

His voice was deep, and rich, and strong, 

And he himself a child of song. 

» Comedor — a dining room. 



148 A feTORY OF THE CARACCAS VALLEY. 

At first the music's liquid flow 
Was soft and plaintive — rich and low; 
The murmur of a fountain's stream 
Where sleeping water-lilies dream ; 
Or, like the breathing of love-vows 
Beneath the shade of orange-boughs ; 
And then more stirring grew his song — 
A strain which swept the blood along ! 
And as he sang, his eyes so sad — 
Which lately wore the look of pain, 
Danc'd with a gleam both proud and glad, 
Awaken'd by his fervid strain — 
His face now flush'd and now grew pale — 
The song he sang, was this, my tale. 

A fort above Laguayra stands, 
Which all the town below commands. 
The damp moss clings upon its walls — 
The rotting drawbridge slowly falls — 
Its dreary silentness appals ! 
The iron-bars are thick with rust 
And slowly moulder into dust; 
The roofless turrets show the sky,. 
The iuoats below are bare and dry — 



A STORY OF THE CARAGCAS VALLEY. 149 

No captain issues proud behest — 
The guard-room echoes to no jest; 
As I have said, within those walls 
The very-silentness appals! 
In other days it was not so — ■ 
The Spanish banner, long ago, 
Above the turrets tall did flow. 
And many a gallant soldier there 
With musket or with gleaming spear, 
Pac'd on the battlements that then 
Were throng'd with tall and proper men. 
But this was many a year ago — 
A long shot back for mem'ry's bow ! 
The Govenor here made his home 
Beneath the great hall's gilded dome. " 
And here his lady-wife he brought 

From Spain, across the sea; 
And sumptuous festival was made, 
Where now the tangled ivy's shade 

Is hanging drearily. 

The lady was both fai^^and young 

Fair as a poet ever sung : 

And well they lov'd; so it is told; — 

Had plighted troth in days gone by. 



150 A STORY OF THE CARACCAS VALLEY. 

Ere he had won his spurs of gold, 

Or, gain'd his station high. 
And often from the martial keep 
They'd sail together on the deep; 
Or, wander many a weary mile 
In lonely valley or defile. 

Well; once upon this road, a pair, 
A lady, and a cavalier, 

Were riding side by side. 
And she was young and ''passing fair," 
With crimson lips and ebon hair — 

She was the gallant's bride ! 
And he was cast in manly mould. 
His port was high, and free, and bold — 

Fitting a cavalier ! 
But now bent reverently low 
His crest's unsullied plume of snow 

Play'd 'mid the lady's hair. 

This knight with orders on his breast, 
The Govenor, as you have guess'd — 
The lady was his wife, and they. 
Alone were on the road that day ; — 



A STORY OF THE OAR AGO AS VALLEY. 151 

Their horses moving at a walk, 
And they engaged in earnest talk, 

Low words and sweet they spoke ; 
The lady smil'd, and blush'd, and then, 
Smiling and blushing, spoke again; 

When sleeping echo woke — 
Woke with the shouts of a wild band 
Who urg'd with spur and heavy hand 

Their steeds along the way. 



Gave but one look the cavalier — 
Murmur'd a vow the lady fair — 
His right arm is around her thrown 
Her form close-gather'd to his own; 
While his brave steed, white as the snow, 
Darts like an arrow from the bow ; 
His hoofs fall fast as tempest rain 
Spurning the road that rings again. 
Onward the race ! — now fainter sounds 
The yell and whoop ; but still like hounds 
The pirate-band behind him rush 
Breaking the mountains solemn hush. 



152 A STORY OF THE CARACCAS .VALLEY. 

On speeds he now — his steed so white 
Far in advance, proclaims his flight 

G-od speed him and his bride ! 
But ah ! that chasm's fearful gape 
Seems to forbid hope of escape, 

He cannot turn aside. 



He bends his head; is it in prayer? 

Is it to shed a bitter tear? 
• Or utter craven vow? 

No ; 'tis to gaze into those eyes 

Which are to him love-litten skies — 
To kiss his lady's brow. 

And must he on ? full well he knew 

That none were spar'd by that wild crew- 
Never a lady fair. 

And now a shout, a fierce halloo, 
Told that they were again in view — 
Close to his ear a bullet sings, 
And then the distant carbine rings. 

Why pales the cavalier? 
And why does he now set his teeth 
And draw his dagger from its sheath* 



A STORY OF THE CARACCAS VALLEY. 153 

He breasts his charger at the leap — 

He pricketh him full sharp and deep : 

He leaps, and then with heaving flank 

Gains footing on the other bank : 

A moment — 'mid the pass's gloom, 

Vanish both veil and dancing plume — 

It seems a dream. No ! there is proof, 

The clatter of a flying hoof, 

And too, the lady's steed remains, 

With empty seat, and flying reins ; 

And then is borne to that wild rout, 

A long and proud triumphant shout. 

And he who led the pirate-band, 

Urg'd on his horse, with spur and hand; 

The long locks drifted from his brow. 

Like midnight waves fromstorm-vex'd prow; 

And darkly flash'd his eyes of jet 

Beneath the brows which almost met. 

Stern was his face ; but war and crime, 

— For he had sinn'd in many a clime — 

Had plough'd it deeper far than time. 

He was their chief: will he draw rein? 

Will he the yawning rift refrain ? 

And with his halting band remain ? 
14 



154 A STORY OF THE CARACCAS VALLEY. 

He rais'd up in his stirrups, high, 

Better the chasm to descry, 

And measure with his hawk-like eye, 

While his dark steed begrim'd with toil, 

Tried madly, vainly, to recoil! 

A mutter'd curse — a sabre goad — 

Full at the leap the robber rode : 

Great God ! his horse near dead and spent, 

Scarce halfway o'er the chasm went. 

That fearful rush, and daring bound. 

Was folio w'd by a crushing sound — 

A sudden, awful knell! 
For down, more than a thousand feet, 
Where mist and mountain-torrent meet. 
That reckless rider fell. 



His band drew up: — they could not speak, 
For long, and loud, his charger's shriek 
Was heard in an unearthly scream. 
Above that roaring mountain-stream — 
Like fancied sound in fever'd dream. 
When the sick brain with crazy skill 
Weaves phantasies of woe and ill. 



A STORY OF THE CARACCAS VALLEY. 155 

Some said : no steed gave forth that yell, 
And hinted solemnly of — hell! 
And others said, that from his vest 
A miniature with haughty crest 
And features like the lady's 'pressed, 

Fell on the rugged bank : 
But who he was, none know or tell; 
They simply point out where he fell 

When horse and horseman sank. 
Like Ravenswood he left no trace — 
Tradition only points the place. 



Rude is my hand, and rude my lay-- 
Rude as the Inn, time-worn and grey, 
Where resting, on the mountain-way, 
I heard the tale which I have tried 
To tell to thee ; and saw the wide 
Deep rift — ten yards from side to side — 
Great God ! it was a fearful ride 
The robber took that day. 



THREE SUMMER STUDIES 



The cock hath crowed. I hear the doors unbarr'd; 

Down to the moss-grown porch my way I take, 
And hear, beside the well within the yard, 

Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake, 
And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen — all 
Responding to yon strutting gobler's call. 

The dew is thick upon the velvet grass — 
The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops, 

And as the cattle from th' in closure pass, 
Each one, altemato, slowly halts and crops 

The tall, green spears, with all their dewy load, 

Which grow beside the well-known pasture-road. 

156 



THREE SUMMER STUDIES. 157 

A lustrous polish is on all the leaves — 

The birds flit in and out with varied notes — 

^^e noisy swallows twitter 'neath the eaves — 
A partridge-whistle thro' the garden floats, 

While yonder gaudy peacock harshly cries, 

As red and gold flush all the eastern skies, 

Up comes the sun : thro' the dense leaves a spot 
Of splendid light drinks up the dew ; the breeze 

Which late made leafy music dies ; the day grows hot. 
And slumbrous sounds come from maraudings bees : 

The burnish'd river like a sword-blade shines, 

Save where 'tis shadow'd by the solemn pines. 
14* 



158 THKEE SUMMER STUDIES 



II. 



Over the farm is brooding silence now — 

No reaper's song — no raven's clangor harsh — 

No bleat of sheep — no distant low of cow — 
No croak of frogs within the spreading marsh - 

No bragging cock from litter'd farm-yard crows, 

The scene is steep'd in silence and repose. 

A trembling haze hangs over all the fields — 
The panting cattle in the river stand 

Seeking the coolness which its wave scarce yields. 
It seems a Sabbath thro' the drowsy land : 

So hush'd is all beneath the Summer's spell, 

I naiise and listen for some faint church bell. 



THREE SUMMER STUDIES. lf)9 

The leaves are motionless — the song-bird's mute — 
The very air seems somnolent and sick : 

The spreading branches with o'er-ripen'd fruit 
Show in the sunshine all their clusters thick, 

While now and then a mellow apple falls 

With a dull sound within the orchard's walls. 

The sky has but one solitary cloud, 

Like a dark island in a sea of light ; 
The parching furrows 'twixt the corn-rows plough'd 

Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight, 
While over yonder road a dusty haze 
Grows reddish purple in the sultry blaze. 



IGO 



THREE SUMMER STUDIES. 



III. 

That, solitary cloud grows dark and wide, 
While distant thunder rumbles in the air, 

A fitful ripple breaks the river's tide — 
The lazy cattle are no longer there, 

But homeward come in long procession slow, 

With many a bleat and many a plaintive low. 

Darker and wider-spreading o'er the west 
Advancing clouds, each in fantastic form, 

And mirror'd turrets on the river's breast 
Tell in advance the coming of a storm — 

Closer and brighter glares the lightning's flash 

And louder, nearer, sounds the thunder's crash. 



THREE SUMMER STUDIES. 



161 



The air of evening is intensely hot, 

The breeze feels heated as it fans my brows — 

Now sullen rain-drops patter down like shot — 
Strike in the grass, or rattle 'mid the boughs. 

A sultry lull: and then a gust again, 

And now I see the thick-advancing rain. 

It fairly hisses as it comes along, 

And where it strikes bounds up again in spray 
As if 'twere dancing to the fitful song 

Made by the trees, which twist themselves and sway 
In contest with the wind which rises fast, 
Until the breeze becomes a furious blast. 

And now, the sudden, fitful storm has fled, 
The clouds lie pil'd-up in the splendid west, 

In massive shadow tipp'd with purplish red 
Crimson or gold. The scene is one of rest ; 

And on the bosom of yon still lagoon 

I see the crescent of the pallid moon. 



THE MINSTREL-LOVER'S LAY 

Were I a knight, those hands of her's — 
Those little hands so small and white, 

Alone should buckle on my spurs — 

The golden spurs which prov'd me knight. 

Were I a knight, my pennon's fold 

Should wear device which they had wrought 
To nerve me as the battle roll'd 

With inspiration from the thought 
That they had blazon'd it in gold, — 

— Fit emblem of her purity! — 
And tho' the foeman came in hosts, 

Wild as the billows of the sea 
That thunders on Norwegian coasts, 

I still would fling abroad its fold — 
To win it from me, life the price; 

For I would sleep all stark and cold, 

Ere they should sully its device. 
162 



THE MTNSTREIi-LOVER S LAY. 163 

Those hands — hast ever seen them? — nay; 

Then marvel not that thus I sing 
Their loveliness in this poor lay ; — 

They well might wake a string 
More noble than this trembling now, 

To tell how wondrous fair their hue, 
White as Madonna's stainless brow, 

Or lily wet with moonlit dew ; 
And yet they have a rosy sign 

Just ling'ring on their dainty tips, 
As if she 'd dipp'd them in red wine 

And dried them on her crimson lips ! 



Were I a knight — now wild the dream! 

* ' The days of chivalry are o'er" — 
Were I a knight — 'tis best, you deem. 

That T should dream such dreams no more ; 
Nay; I will dream, and dreaming, sing, 

Altho' the dream elude my grasp — 
Will tell you that, were I a king, 

I'd give my diadem to clasp 
Those little hands within my own — 

To feel them trembling answer mine; — 



164 THE minstrel-lover's lay. 

For this — aye! but for this alone 

I'd leap down from earth's proudest throne, 

Wild in that blessed moment 
With the ecstacy divine, 

As tho' I'd drunk a goblet 

Of Jove's nectar mix'd with wine 



TO ******** 

The days have been, have been, alas! 

When fancies in my brain, 
Rose like the bubbles in the glass, 

Where foams the bright champagne ; 
Or danc'd like sha.dows on the grass 
That flutter as they swiftly pass 

After an April rain. 
Ah! fraught the thought with bitter pain! 
The days have been, alas ! 
But now my song is faint — in vain 
I strive, a golden-number'd strain 

For thee, sweet one, to wake. 
In vain I strive to frame a line, 
Worthy those wondrous charms of thine — 
No bubble glitters on the wine, 

Which in my youth I thought divine. 

15 165 



166 TO 



******* 



Thine eyes are full of magic gleams — 

Are full of magic deep, 
Lighting the darkness up with dreams 

Till slumber is not sleep — 
Making my slumber with their beams 

A phosphorescent d'^ep^ 
All quiv'ring in a golden glow, 

In which my soul doth float and flow — • 

A very heav'n of heav'ns below. 
Thine eyes! they have a charm for me, 
Greater than stars for rapt Chaldee, 
In golden, olden times when he, 
Gaz'd upward at the starry sea, 
In sad and solemn reverie, — 
When long had sunk the evening sun 
Behind the walls of Babylon, 

Thine eyes — ah me! the gift 's not mine 
To tell how splendidly they shine, 

Those wondrous, large, dark eyes of thin( 



TO ^ 5j; ^ ^ 5[> jj; jj.. 167 

Thy form is fair ; have I not seen 

When thou wert standing in the sun, 
That straight the wither'd grass grew green — 

The vines in very glee did run ? 
And this was when thy shadow fell 
Upon them like a blessed spell ; 
And as thy drap'ry brush'd the flow'rs, 
It woke them like the summer show'rs; 
The simple contact gave such pow'rs, 
They blossom'd through long solstice hours. 
And too, next day I saw,- myself, 

Footprints mark'd out upon the green, 
In blossoms strange and beautiful, 

Where your small feet had been. 
And when my heart was like the grass, 

All parching up and growing sear, 
Lo! where thy shadow did but pass 

New verdure started there ! • 

And now Hope's blossoms bloom again, 
Would I could wake a worthy strain 
To ber who bade them live again ! 



A WINTER NIGHT AT SEA. 

The bell toU'd eight; the watch was called — 

The night was wild I trow ! 

One that I never can forget, 

For all the deck was thickly set 

"With sheets of ice and snow; 

And the hail fell fast 

On the driving blast, 

G-od ! how the wind did blow ! 

While a ghastly light 

Thro' the dreary night 

Came from the pallid snow. 
168 



A WINTER NIGHT AT SEA, 1(59 

To the weather-shrouds I clung amain, 

When thro' the driving snow and rain, 

— In a moment's lull, — 

I saw a hull 

Shorn of her spars, flit by ; 

Close, close abeam. 

In the ghastly gleam 

' That lit the winter-sVy , 

From the frozen deck 

I saw a wreck, 

Like a phantom-ship drive by. 

Away! away! 

Thro' mist and spray, 

And thro' the driving snow, 

She hurried past, 

Nor sail, nor mast, 

Did that poor vessel show ; 

And thro' the snows 

There upward rose — 

Grreat God ! how wild a cry ! 

•And well, full well, that phrenzied sound 

Told where the drifting ship was bound 

Upon that winter-sea. 
15* 



A SEPTEMBER MORNING. 

Last night I heard the heavy blast 
Like charging horsemen trample past; 
While lightning flash'd, and thunder peal'd, 
As if two foes that would not yield, 
Maintain'd above, their stubborn field. 

And aU the walks are now afloat, 

Each bed a bastion with its moat; 

And leaves are thick beneath my tread, 

Like piled-up heaps of a battles dead; 

And all along each valley's marge, 

They lie like men when deadly charge 

Has swept along their line and left 

The marks which hoof and sword have cleft. 
170 



A SEPTEMBER MORNING. 171 

While yon old tree stands 'mid the bow'rs, 

Like Lear half drown'd by chilly show'rs ; 

And e'en the toads hop stiff and lame — 

The little birds are still more tame ; 

And slowly curls up in the sun, 

The smoke from distant sportsman's gun. 

That echoes dismally around, 

The saddest, first September sound. 



THE NIGHT WE PARTED. 

The night we parted, I remember well 

Your tone — your look — the pressure of your hand; 

And never yet had that one word, "farewell," 
So strange a power, and so sad a spell. 
As when we parted. On the yellow sand 

I linger'd, till the deep'ning darkness gave 

No sign of where your swift bark cleft the wave. 

Bright was the wake she left upon the bay, 

As if the angels that sustain the stars * 
Had slumb'ring dropp'd them 'mid the dancing spray. 
So, in my heart's once quiet, trackless way 
You have, dear lady left a line of light 
That trembling glitters in its dreary night. 



♦An Oriental superstition. — See Sale's Preliminary Discourse to the 
Koran. 



THE NIGHT WE PARTED. 

That parting was the saddest I had known ; 

Tho' in my wild, and somewhat strange career, 
I've look'd on aspirations 'round me strown 

Like wither'd leaves by Autumn-br,eezes blown ; 

But ne'er till then had felt the tear 
Start burning to my eyes as when I took, 
Upon that night, my long, last, lingering look. 

When not a breeze is stirring, the long swell 
Tossing, and heaving, on the mighty deep. 

Will of late tempest to the seaman tell ; 
So, lady, since our late and sad farewell. 

My heart's deep pulses tumultuously keep 
A throb that tells of tempest lately past, 
As billows in the calm tell of the blast. 

And tho', sweet lady, we ne'er meet again, 
Altho' I ne'er may see your sunny face ; 

Still will I think in sunshine and in rain 

Of your young form, and its ethereal grace — 
Will in my dreams each lovely feature trace 

And when your image in my mind appears 

'Twill be a rainbow painted on life's tears. 



A NIOHT IN SPRING 

In the night season. 

Under the moon, 
Flowers are sleeping, 

Dreamingwof June. 

All the young roses, 
Steep'd in perfume, 

Waiting for morning, 
Sigh in the gloom. 

Slowly the vapor 

Breaks into gems; 
Making the flowers 

Pearl diadems. 

174 



A NIGHT IN SPRING. 175 

Over the waters — 

Over the stream 
Mosaic shadows 

Fitfully gleam. 

Making a pavement 

Fit for the stars, 
Upon it riding, in 

Luminous cars. 

Over the woodlands, 

Cynthia's rim, 
Looks in the ^lidnight 

Misty and dim : 

Over the tree-tops — 

Over the stream — 
Shedding her lustre, 

Soft as a dream;' 

Dreampt by an angel 

Sleeping afar, — '■ 
Sleeping and dreaming. 

Close to a star. 



176 A NIGHT IN SPRING. 

Silent the woodlands, 
Silent the shore ; 

Silent the waters — 
Silent the oar. — 

Silent and tranquil, 
Lonely and still, 

Sleepeth the river, 
Under the hill. 

Sounds the most dulcet, 
Harp or guitar, 

Midnight so lovely- 
Only could mar. 

Watching this picture 
Stretch' d on the grass,— 

It is no wonder, 

My soul went to mass. 

If thou wouldst, brother, 
Summon good pow'rs — 

Pray as / pray'd, with 
The trees and the flow'rs. 



THE NIGHT WIND. 

The night-wind is calling in desolate tone, 

While the heavy rain falling, responds to its moan. 

Oh ! the night, is so dreary, its gloom so profound, 
That my head groweth weary with hearing the sound 

Of dismal rain dashing down in the dark street. 
And, at intervals, crashing of boughs as they meet 

While the wind in its fleeting, sobs out 'mid the rain. 
Like some one entreating for mercy in vain. 

And the deep thunder rolls thro' the storm-fretted night. 
Like the guns of an army, in sullen, slow flight. 

Ah ! the night is a sad one ; the wind hath a tone, 
That fills me with fancies while seated alone. 

16 m 



t 



178 THE NIGHT WIND. 

And she; — does she sleep to this lullaby sound 
Of the drops as they leap to the roof and rebound? 

And she! — does she dream? and if dreaming, of me? 
Lull'd still by the stream, from the roof or the tree ? 

Oh! would I could number her breathings to-night — 
Could watch in her . slumber her smile of delight, 

As some angel-like vision spreads wings in the light 
Of gardens Elysian, around her to-night, — 

As in her pure slumber, her bright fancies glide, 
Like a flock of white swans on a moon-litten tide ! 

But vain are these dreamings — but clouds in my mind — 
Their rich golden gloamings leave darkness behind ; 

As red Autumn sunsets, when faded are cold. 

And cheerless, where late they were crimson and gold. 

So, my heart, where but lately those wild visions were, 
Is as dark as this midnight, as dark and as drear. 



THE RESIGNATION OF HOPE 

Ah, lady! I have lov'd thee well, 
Have lov'd thee well for many years, 

And now that I must say "farewell," 
My heart feels as 'twould burst in tears. 

Yet, fare thee well. I know, alas! 

That love of thine I'll ne'er possess — 
No more, hard fate! — thy name may pass 

My lips, save lady, once — to bless. 

Like snow-flake in an oak's brown leaf. 

Thy little hand in mine would be — 

But now I know with bitter grief 

'Twill never wear a ring for me. 
179 



180 THE RESIGNATION OF HOPE. 

That dream so full of life and joy, 
Prov'd but a cloud above life's main, 

Which watching like an idle boy, 
I saw at last dissolve in rain. 

And now the last light that gleam'd o'er 
Life's Hellespont, is quench'd in night; 

And I may never reach the shore. 
Since it has vanish'd — cheating light! 

And so, in darkness on the sea, 

Leander-like I drift about; 
And his the fate that waits for me — 

The beacon of my life is out ! 

Here cease love's hopes, and love's alarms- 
Here the last bitter struggle ends — 

Hope, the spent swimmer, folds its arms, 
And to the yawning deep descends. 



THE MOTHER TO HER SON 

Whene'er I hear those little feet. 
My heart like morning's drum doth beat; 
It rolls, ' ' To arms, to arms !" my sweet 
And only child to hear thy feet. 

Aye ! it doth flutter quick and fast 
As sail just loosen'd from the mast, 
Doth swell, as wave before the blast, 
Whene'er I hear thee bounding past. 

And when I hear thy laughter, child. 

Ring in its music free and wild 

From the stern cares of life beguil'd, 

T feel with thee my heart hath smil'd. 
16* 181 



Ig2 THE MOTHER TO HER SON. 

And when thou art upon my knee, 
Looking so lovingly at me, 
I'd give, wer't mine, of life the fee 
To purchase happiness for thee. 

And as I part each silken tress 

And mark thy more than loveliness — 

As I return each wild caress, 

'Twere sin to love thee more — or less. 

And when thy kisses fall in show'rs — 

Soft as the early summer hours, 

I pray unto the Heavenly pow'rs 

To strew thy path thro' life with flow'rs. 

And often when thou art asleep, 
Half-fill'd with terror do I creep 
— Because thy slumber is so deep — 
To see if it is only sleep. 

And yet I feel, how very weak 
How vain it is for me to seek 
My love in human words to speak — 
I can but cover thy soft cheek 



THE MOTHER TO HER SON. 183 

And lips, and hair, and laughing eyes, 
With kisses softer, than the sighs 
That in the childish bosom rise, 
As with a look of sad surprise 
Thou see'st tears tremble in these eyes. 



AN AUTUMN REVERIE. 

Beneath the Autumn forest leaves 

I saw the Evening binding sheaves ; 
Aye! in that forest grand and old 
Thro' which the yellow sunset roll'd, 
The lictor Eve bound sheaves of gold; 
Beneath the leaves bound sheaves of light, 
Fasces to bear before the night — 
Which Roman-like, came grandly down, 
Beleaguering many a mighty town ; 
Encamping on full many a plain, 
Where tent-like stood the stack'd-up grain. 
So like a camp, thou'dst think almost 
The sentry pac'd upon his post — 
The sentry-phantom and the host. 

Died one by one each sylvan sound; 

The distant baying of a hound — 

The dreary cawing of the crows 

That lately thro' the forest rose — 

All into solemn silence froze. 
184 



AN AUTUMN REVERIE. 185 

The sun was down, and thro' the shade 

The evening wind began its play; 
But frighten'd at the noise it made, 

Stole timidly away. 

Then lost amid the forest wild, 

Amid its vastness dark and dim, 
It sobb'd out like a frighten'd child, 

Scar'd at the shadows grim — 
Which ghost-like flutter'd thro' the wood, 

And crept beneath each giant-tree, 
Until, methought, an Indian stood 

Close, very close to me — 
So close, and such my fancy's cheat, 
I even heard his stealthy feet 

Tip back around the tree. 
And then full many a legend wild. 

And many a story strange and stark, 
Throng'd in my brain; till like a child 

I trembled at the dark. 



THE MENTAL SEXTON 



'■'When bards are removed to tbeir place; when harps are hung in 
Selma's hall; then comes a voice to Ossian and awakes his soull It is the 
voice of years that are gone I they roll before me with all their deeds." 

Ossian. 

Mem'ry to-night hath sadly turn'd 

Into a sexton stern and grim, 
Who worketh slowly in the past 

Chequer'd with shadows dim. 

Uncoffining full many a hope ; 

While solemn bells ring midnight's chime, 
He diggeth in that grave-yard fiU'd 

Right well fill'd up by time 

I stand upon the brink of graves 

While wails the wind with sobbing moans; 

And see this sexton fling up dust 
And ashes mix'd with bones. 

186 



THE MENTAL SEXTON. 187 

This skull was once, how fair ! how fair ! 

And now — it speaks but of the dead; 
Where are its locks of sunny hair? 

Its lips once full and red? 

Where are the eyes once proud and wild, 
Beneath the forehead's ample scope? 

Where are the cheeks that flush'd and smil'd? 
This thing was once a hope ! 

Out! back into the clay! that smile 

Can never lure me on again, 
To seek with thee the phantom-isle 

Thou show'dst me o'er life's main. 

Thy scarlet lips but told me lies; 

Did they not cast a horoscope, 
Painting the future with rich dyes? 

And all a cheat false hope ! 

For hath my life not been to me 

Like some dark, desolated plain, 
Stretch'd out 'twixt woodlands and the sea, — 

Where ripen'd never yet the grain 



188 THE MENTAL SEXTON. 

Planted by Hope ; where sweeps the blast 
And winter-rain falls thick and fast ; 

Where all is dark and overcast 
Such is life's picture in the Past. 



TO LOU. 

Thy forehead, Lou, is very fair, 
Is beautifully smooth, and low, 
And seems amid thy dark hair's flow 
Like marble crusted o'er with snow, 
And lighted by the full moon's glow. 

Thine eyes astronomers might deem 
Stars in their liquid light divine, 
And as they luminously shine — 
Those wondrous, large, dark eyes of thine, 
They warm my heart like flash of wine. 

The cunning florist, did he see 

Those little ears so white and fair 

Would willingly upon them swear 

That, they were lilies in thy hair — 

Twin-lilies in thy raven-hair. 
17 189 



190 TO LOU. 

They'd fool a bco, they'd fool a bco, 

Those crimson lips of thine, dear Lou, 
I swear it hy their sanguine hue, 
Those lips a very bee might woo. 
Thinking them roses damp with d(;w. . 

Those hands of thine might cheat the waves 

If thou wouldst but their fingers close ; 
For then the waters would suppose 
They saw a sea-shell lin'd with rose — 
Yes, Lou, I knoio the waves would think 
They saw a sea-shell white and pink, 
From which a very God might drink, 
And tremble on its rosy brink. 

They'd fool the slumb'ring flowers, Lou, 

Those very little, little feet, 
Until they dreanipt dreams soft and sweet 
Of rain-drops laughing in the heat, 
So perfect is thy footfall's clieat; 
And echo loves to count each beat. 
And whispers in a tone most sweet. 
Her praises of thy little feet. 



TO LC, 



Of what thou might'st delude, dear Lou, 

These many things are but a part; 
But proud, I say, one trusting heart 
Hath ne'er Lou, been deceiv'd — thy art 
Is never to dissemble. 



191 



LINES WRITTEN ON A HYACINTH. 

'TwAS an evening dark and shady, 
When a certain nameless lady 

Grave this hyacinth to me; 
And I took it, never deeming, 

That its petals fair and white, 
Would appeal to me in dreaming, 

On that very self-same night. 

It had sweet bells, three in number, 

Three in number, only three ; 

And they rang out in my slumber, 

Peals, which music would encumber 

With its softest melody. 
192 



LINES WRITTEN ON A HYACINTH. 193 

Long I had been calmly sleeping, 

But how long I cannot guess, 
(For the moon no watch was keeping 

In her solemn loveliness;) 
When I dreampt that I was sleeping, 

Lull'd by a mysterious swell 
Of delicious music creeping 

From each white and perfum'd bell; 

Which distinctly, clearly fell, 

With a drowsy, dreamy spell, 
From their leaves 
Making music soft as rain-drops 
When they dance upon the eaves. 

Then, methought, I woke from slumber — 

That I open'd wide my eyes — 
That I saw those bells (in number 

Only three) distinctly rise ; 
While a radiance pale and moonlike, 

On their trembling petals hung, 
And that light seem'd also tune-like. 

For each undulation flung 

A music and a melody, 

As if bright angels sung. 
17* 



WRITTEN ON LEAVING THE U. S, 

IN THE SLOOP OF WAR "CTANE." 

I SEE yon dreary sand-beach yet, 

And the ghost-like light-house tall, 
Which by the ocean's wave is wet. 
For there the billows foam and fret, 
Like a mountain water-fall. 

The night comes on : the light-house sinks, 

But flingeth o'er the sea, 

A light that winks 

And fades and blinks, 

In sooth right drowsily ! 
194 



WRITTEN ON LEAVING THE UNITED STATES. VJb 

The spray flits by in whiter flow 

And gathers fast the fog; 
The hammocks have been **pip'd below" — 
The bell rings out, deep, stern, and slow — 
The reefer, marks the foam, like snow. 

Fret round the drifting log. 

The moon comes up, with a ghastly light. 

That struggles thro* the mist; 
And a ghostly white, 
Are the sails to-night — 

Like spectres they, I wist ! 

My heart is sad; tears in these eyes — 

Tears in these eyes to-night? — 
When swift I go to sunny skies 
Where perfum'd flowers of rarest dyes, 

Bloom in a blaze of light. 

Where purple mountains rise from seas 

Where painted dolphins play; 
Where blossoms cluster on the trees, 
So sweet, that the enamor'd breeze 

Makes love to them all day. — 



196 WRITTEN ON LEAVING THE UNITED STATES. 

Tears in these eyes! Ah, Mother mine: 

I little thought so soon, 
I should be on the heaving brine, 
Away from that deep love of thine, 

Wearing the pilgrim's shoon. 



A MEMORY. 

A CATARACT of cui'ls uubound, 
Her snowy forehead fell around; 
Like torrent broken by the shock 
Of leaping o'er some marble rock, 
Smooth'd by the fall, till it did gleam 
In pallid beauty thro' the stream — 
More beautiful than any dream 
That ever yet hath wildly flown 

To dwell in white Carrara stone. 

197 



lf»S A MEMORY. 

Her loose robe rippled fitfully, 

Its ample volumes waving wide, 

Showing her matchless symmetry; 

Until, in sooth, it seem'd to me, 

That Venus, lolling on the sea, 

Had scarce with her — in all her pride, 

Just risen from the rosy tide, 

And blushing like a new-made bride — 

One little moment e'er have vied. 



And this was in another clime, 
Where life glides by, a golden rhyme, 
Set unto music's mellow chime ; 
And in that soft and slumb'rous time, 
Silent we sat. She watch'd the stars, 
Wheeling in their eternal cars, 
While the faint hum of soft guitars 
Stole thro' the orange-trees, and crept 
Where Naiades in the fountain wept. 
I gaz'd upon a heaven, but mine 
Was in her face, more than divine — 
The dreamy face of Isoline. 



A MEMORY 199 

Since then; ah! years have flown. 

Yet now 
I sit beneath the orange-bough — 
I feel her breath upon my brow 
I listen to her whisper'd vow. 

Ah me ! I wake ; the dream is o'er — 
Long ha7o I left that golden shore, 
Where dwelt this maiden fair whose vow 
Was murmur'd 'neath the orange-bough. 



'TWAS WRONG. 

Ah, lady! it was scarcely wise, 
To fan his forehead with soft sighs, 
And gaze upon him with fond eyes. 

Ah, lady! it was scarcely meet, 
To see him kneeling at your feet, 
And listen to his words so sweet. 

'Twas wrong while ye were wandering there, 
Out in the moonlight calm and clear, 
To pass your fingers thro' his hair. 

Ye wander'd late : ye wander'd long ; 

You listen'd to full many a song, 

And list'ning, lady, knew 'twas wrong ! 
200 



20i 



*I* ^ *»* ^ H* 

^ *i* ^ *{* 

Another night, and he was there, 

His eyes had now a strange, wild glare - 

His face all pallid with despair. 

:^ ^ ^ ijs: ^ 

* * * * 

He had few ducats in his purse, 
— This of itself a bitter curse, — 
'Twas deadly wrong to make it worse I 

He oflfer'd more than gold can buy — 
For what you yet perchance may sigh, 
Aye, lady; long before you die. 

But you — your heart was e'en then sold 
For silks and laces, gems and gold, 
Unto a lover grey and old. 

^ ^ i^ ^ ^ 

All deeds have payment, soon or late ; 

Upon the poor, upon the great, 

Comes down the ruthless hand of fate. 
18 



202 'twas wrong. 

The time will come, for come it must, 
When you, crush' d to the very dust, 
Shall deem your idol, gold — as rust. 

You '11 think upon that stripling slim — 
Bitter the doom you meted him, 
'Twill haunt you like a phantom grim. 

Dead ! where that moonlight-night ye trod. 
His ghastly face — the bloody sod — 
Will interpose 'twixt you and God. 



FIRE-STDE FANCIES. 

I LOVE to gaze in the fire's blaze, 

And hear the winds without, 

Sing a lullaby, as they sob and sigh, 

In their wild, nocturnal rout. 

And I love to mark, each meteor-spark, 

Wheel up in the chimney's gloom, 

While the red flame gleams 

In its ruddy streams, 

Till in sooth it seems — a plume — 

A plume as it glances, 

And flickers and dances, 

In motion now fast, now slow, 

Till 'twere no hard task, 

To fashion a casque, 

Hid under its crimson flow. 
203 



204 FIRE-SIDE FANCIES. 

Then 'tis sweet to hear 
From my great arm-chair, 

The tempest's wild sob and moan, 
As it sweepeth past 
Like a trumpet's blast, 

By a giant-minstrel blown. 



Then to list again, 

As its dying strain 
Is hush'd to an echo slight — 

Till its tone is mute, 

And its boding hoot 
• Is lost in the vaults of night. 

And when I am nodding. 

To think I hear plodding 
Some one in the drifted snow; 

But to find that the feet 

Were a cunning deceit. 
Their sound 'mid the embers glow. 



FIRE-SIDE FANCIES. 205 

Awake; to evoke 

'Mid the vap'ry smoke, 
Wild shapes, and to see them pass, 

In a pageant strange 

That will ever change. 
Like forms in a wizard's glass. 

Now a turret's crown 

Looketh proudly down, 
On the pinnacles of a blazing town ; 
Then as the strong draught rumbles, 
All the Moscow city tumbles, 
Into hoary ashes crumbles! 
Down go turrets, down go towers, 
And the sparks fall in red showers ! 
Then, abstracted from the ruddy 
Fire-flames, to plunge in study, 
Or to lapse in dreams ne'er spoken, 
Dreampt by me in that old, oaken 
Chair, so easy and commodious — 
With its carving quaint and shining — 
With its faded crimson lining, 
Where I sit, my dreams entwining, 

Till I wake up in the cold. 

18* 



206 FIRE-SIDE FANCIES. 

And the fire as it smoulders, 
Preacheth well to grave beholders, 
Telling how the splendid flashes 

Of Hope's visions soon are o'er. 
That when she but sinks her lashes, 
They all turn to dust and ashes, 

Dust and ashes — nothing more ! 
And I wake up from such dreamingj 

Wiser, better than before ; 
Thinking on the text and sermon. 

Dust and ashes — nothing morel 



THE LOVER TO THE MAIDEN 

This hand altho' it trembles now, — 
Ah,, hear me, love, while I avow! — 
Would ^uard from care thy angel-brow; 

Would toil for thee — 
Until it met death's iron grasp 
And stiffen'd in his icy clasp 

No longer free. 

And like the Roman youth of old 
Whose daring history hath told — 
— Tho' in good sooth, I am not bold, 
Yet still — like him 
I'd give my hand unto the flame 
To save thy cheek one blush of shame, 

Or, tear-drop dim. 

20T 



208 THE LOVER TO THE MAIDEN. 

He, for his country did the deed; 
Thou art my country— all — my creed; 
Thy loving smile the only meed 

That I would claim. 
Yet, love, the anguish I would brave 
Of flame, or yet a living grave, 

To shield thy name! 

The voice that quivering whispers now 
In many a deep and earnest vow — 
That breathes upon thy very brow, 

Would never, love, 
Instil into thy list'ning ear 
A tale which angels might not hear 

In courts above. 



Whate'er my soul's unwritten creed — 
Believe me, it is truth indeed, 
That I would rather dying bleed 

At ev'ry vein 
Than murmur what would make thee blush 
E'en in the midnight's solemn hush, 

Or, give thee pain. 



THE LOVER TO THE MAIDEN. 209 

Then, dearest, trust me, trust me, and 

By this kiss printed on thy hand, 

And by the heav'ns above us, grand, — 

I swear that I, 
The deep devotion of this night, 
Will keep as yonder planet bright, 

Untilldiel 



EXTRACT FROM MY LOG-BOOK 

OFF PORT AU PRINCE. 

The red sun sinks amid a blaze of glory, 
Lighting the heaving wave with many a ray, 

While the long shadow of yon promontory 
Falls in its darkness half-way o'er the bay, 
Like to a giant, at the close of day, 

Who lays him down to woo the gentle breeze, 

Deep lost, perchance, in dreamy reveries. 



Grorgeous the clouds as plume of seraph's wing. 
Crimson, and gold, and violet they grow, 

While on the billows dancing by, they fling 
A light that dyes each tossing crest of snow, 
— Making a mimicry of Heav'n below; — 

While the white sails that dot the spreading bay, 

Grow faintly red in this last flush of day. 
210 



EXTRACT FROM MT LOG-BOOK. 211 

And o'er the waters comes a distant song, 

Half blended with the night-wind's soothing sigh ; 

Would I a scene like this could but prolong? — 
Could fix the hues in yonder changing sky — 
Could chain the melody that 's floating by — 

Could make the scene perpetually so — 

Bay — music — all — e'en to yon sail of snow! 

The song has ceas'd, its mellow echo dies; 
Then comes the rattle of an oar; and now, 

The fisher's bark, freed from her moorings, flies, 
Shaking the billows from her dripping prow, 
Which seems to make the fresh sea-breeze a bow 

As bending over to the freshening blast, 

She dashes homeward, flitting swiftly past. 



Aye: homeward went that bark, and the rude song. 
From the swart boatman broke in wilder glee ; — 

He thought, perchance, as he drove swift along. 

Of those who'd welcome from the treach'rous sea—* 
And there are those who think, perhaps, of me, 

But from my lips to-night bursts no refrain, 

I cannot echo, tho' I would, his strain. 



212. EXTRACT FROM MY LOG-BOOK. 

And now the burning planets, one by one, 

Gleam in tbe purple sky, and trembling, shine, 
. Where lately blaz'd the evening's setting sun. 
And one flings far across the rolling brine 
A golden thread — a lustrous, quiv'ring line, 

As if 'twere fishing ; only think : a star 

Forgetting its sublimity so far! 

How strange it is ! that e'en in saddest mood 
Quaint thoughts will come, altho' it is not fit; 

But sooth it is; a jackdaw did intrude 
Once in a grass-grown grave-yard, he alit 
Upon a headstone ; what thereon was writ 

I could not see for tears : and then he spoke — 

So, that last thought upon my musings broke. 

The star-light quivers, and the billows dash 
In many a soft, and scintillating glow; 

And the waves break beneath me, with a plash 
Soft as a sylvan fountain's drowsy flow : 
But eveji as I gaze, I start — for lo! 

There rises where the shadow falleth dark, 

The seaman's foe — the silent, deadly shark. 



k 



EXTRACT FROM MY LOG-BOOK. 213 

The Ishmael of Ocean's mystic deep: 
He rose in silence; silently he goes — 

Goes like a phantasy of fever'd sleep — 
And now the water musically flows 
Where late the fierce and savage monster rose; 

And smiles the wave upon the stars above 

As beauty smiles when burning eyes look love. 



I do remember me, a day of mark — 

Once, south of Cuba — 'twas a startling thing 

We caught a very giant of a shark. 

And in his maw was found a jewell'd ring 

Rich as the gift of Oriental king: 

And small ; so that I almost felt unmann'd, 

To see it fitted only woman's hand. 



And when I this small, carved ring beheld, — 
— The ring in fashion was both old and quaint,- 

It brought me up a tragedy of eld, 

A scene from which I turn'd both sad and faint- 
It told of terror which made no complaint, 

As some fair woman clung upon the deck 

Of Spanish argosy speeding to wreck. 
19 



214 EXTRACT FROM MY LOG-BOOK. 

When — where, the lady died? Ah I who may tell? 

What ocean-spirit can her fate reveal? 
What wretched chance the gallant ship befell? 

What sunken rock shatter'd her mighty keel? 

In vain I ask — on all is set a seal — 
The ring alone remaining tells no tale; 
Whether she sank in battle, or the gale 



Is a strange secret, and must ever be — 
One of the millions which are darkly held 

In the deep bosom of the mystic sea 

So full of tragedies! A long list — swell'd 
— A wondrous volume! — from the days of eld, 

Down to this very eve — which has, perchance, 

Seen the dark billows o'er some wretches glance. 



REALITY. 

Youth cast a brilliant horoscope : 
I thought thro' life to ride — 

My hand was on the mane of hope, 
But ere I leap'd astride. 

Fate tilted down upon me, and 

1 headlong roU'd upon the sand. 

And tho' I rose again ; I now 

In dreams but little trust; 
Dark care is on both lip and brow, 

My feet are thick with dust — 
With neither jest, nor laugh, nor song, 
Full wearily, I toil along. 

E'en young ambition's hawk, which I 
Flung from my wrist, is dead ; 

Poor bird ! it barely sought to fly, 
Before its life had fled — 

So, leaving grove, and grassy sod, 

I, on the common highway, plod. 
215 



A SICK-MAN'S FANCIE? 

I AM weary, mother, weary 
And my aching brow is hot. 

Lay your hand upon my forehead 
It will cool this burning spot. 

That is burning, burning, burning 
With a fierce and ceaseless pain — 

I am weary, mother, weary, 
I have overwrought my brain. 

With my head upon your bosom, 

I can lull myself to rest; 

From my youth it was the pillow 

That I ever lov'd the best! 
216 



THE SICK-MAN S FANCIES. 21" 

Press your hand upon my forehead — 

Press it harder — harder — so! 
How its touch reminds me, mother, 

Of the days gone long ago ! 

Of the vanish'd days, my mother, 
When the world was fair to me — 

When I bow'd down every evening 
With my head upon your knee : 

Said the little pray'r you taught me ; 

And then sank to dreamless rest, ' 
With my head reposing, mother. 

As this moment on your breast. 

With my head thus resting, mother, 

I can smile upon my fate; 
Loving better those who love me 

And forgiving those who hate. 

Nay! then love it is no matter — 

From the present I will turn : 
Press your hand upon my forehead — • 

How mv throbbing temples burn I 

19* 



218 



As you wish it, I'll cease talking 
Of those long, long-vanish'd years, 

As I think of them, my mother, 
I could weep most pleasant tears. 

But I will not, it would pain you — 
I will try, indeed, to sleep — 

Though my clos'd eyes see before me 
Flames that seem to dance and leap. 

I will sleep in a fair palace 
I can build such at my will ; 

And this grand and stately palace 
With the fairest dreams I'll fill. 

But first I'll say, dear mother. 

If you'll hear me, that old pray'r ; 
Which I've said so often mother, 

With your hand amid my hair. 

And the lessons that you taught me — ■ 
To shun wrong and do the right — 

With the pleasant tales you told me 
All come back again to-night. 



THE sick-man's FANCIES. 219 

And.... but mother, dearest mother. 
Have my fancies made you weep ? 

Kiss me then upon the forehead, 
And, indeed, I'll try to sleep. 



TO MARY. 

I asked of her a simple song, 
And as her pnowy fingers flew, 

The music rose, now rich and strong, 
Now low and plaintive grew. 

Her soft voice in its mellow swell. 
From the sweet prelude soared away ; 

Entranced I listened as it fell 
A show'r of music spray. 

I gazed upon her artless face. 

And saw it dimpled o'er with smiles ; 
Ah ! it was full of nameless grace 

And girlhood's winning wiles. 

220 



TO MARY. 

The song she sang — a simple thing — ■ 
Since then has in my mem'ry been, 

As sky lark lost on soaring wing 
Is heard altho' unseen. 

The song — a touching song indeed — 
A loving woman's song of love — 

Most rightly won my highest meed — 
All songs it seem'd above ! 

And oh ! her plaintive singing crept 
Into my heart with such a tone, 

That I had almost weakly wept 
Had I but been alone. 

* ' Dinna Forget !" she need not fear 
That those who gaze upon her face, 

Encompassed by her wealth of hair 
Can ere forget its grace. 

Ah me! that song — that simple song- 
* ♦ Dinna Forget ! Dinna Forget !" 

Will linger in my mem'ry long — 
A pleasure half regret. 



221 



222 TO MARy. 

Twill haunt me wlien tlie twilight's gloom 
Creeps slowly o'er the purple sky, 

As spices leave behind perfume 
In only passing by. 

The singer and the song will both 
Recall that pleasant eve when we 

Persuaded her to sing, tho loth — 
She said she sang for me. 

And I will think of Mary's song 
When many a future sun has set — 

E'en then the mem'ry will be strong 
And I shall ne'er forget. 



THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 

In the past, there are mournful shadows, 

With garlands about their brows — 
They are pale — they are mournful spectres 

Their garlands are cypress boughs. 
Of these shadows, I see, ah! many: 

Let us count: there are twenty and five, 
Which pallid, and spectre-like, wander 

Where billows eternally drive — 
By a strand where the wreck-laden billows 

Rush up, on the desolate shore ; 

Where the billows in tumult, forever 

Send upward a dissonant roar 
223 



224 THE IRREVOCABLE PAST. 

These shadows wear each one a garland, 

— Such are sad unto me, and to you: — 
Wear chaplets, which chaplets are heavy 

With cypress and sad-color'd yew. 
Yet, these chaplets were woven, my brother, 

Of blooms which I fancied I knew — 
And I dreamt not in twining these garlands, 

Aught would mingle of sorrowful hue. 
Ah ! the blossoms look'd purple and golden, 

Each one, what a sumptuous thing ! 
Great its splendor, alas ! but that splendor. 

The splendor of Autumn in Spring : 
All the rich tints have vanish'd or faded. 

Gone, tin tings of purple and blue — 
All the blossoms have faded and fallen — 

They have left me but cypress and yew. 
And these shadows that wear these dead garlands, 

I can see them but dimly thro' tears, 
Yet I know that these shadows are spectres. 

Of twenty — and more — twenty years! 



THE IRREVOCABLE PAST. 225 

There are some whose pale faces are smiling ;-- 

But I turn from their smiles, feeling faint; 
For I see on their lips, now, the crimson — 

The cheating red left by the paint. 
'Mid their garlands are grape-leaves and ivy, 

These the years which wild pleasures embrac'd; 
And they've marks on their garland-bouud foreheads — 

Deep marks which cannot be effac'd. 

'Mid these shadows are two, which together 

Are wandering there by the shore, 
Which are fairer, tho' older, than any 

That list while tho dark billows roar ; 
Yet, their foreheads are graver and sadder — 

Their eyes ever look on the ground. 
What they've lost, they have lost, ah ! forever. 

It can never, ah ! never be found ; 
Tho' they sought it for ages eternal. 

With purpose, my brother, sublime, 
What they've lost cannot now be recovered — 

'Twas precious indeed — it was Time! 
So, they wander amid a stern Carthage, 

With sadness on forehead, and lips, 

20 



226 THE IRREVOCABLE PAST. 

For of Hope all the triremes are stranded — 

It is Carthage no longer "of ships." 
This the reason my soul looketh tearful 

Aye ! tearful, and sad, and aghast, 
O'er the billows which ever are freighted 

With terrible wrecks of the Past. 
Yet arise, oh! sad soul, and remember, 

This story, instructive, and old: 
That new worlds unto Colon despairing, 

A wreck on the billows foretold. 
Let us shake oft' this sadness and sorrow — 

This sadness, and sorrow, and pain ; ^ 

Let us turn from these wrecks to discover 

New fields beyond life's solemn main ; 
By this shore where such dark shadows hover, 

Oh ! let us no longer remain. 



FINIS. 



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